


A Change is Gonna Come - Part Six: From the Fires

by Emi_theSassiestSousa



Series: A Change is Gonna Come [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: All Previous Warning Tags Apply, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Everyone (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley's A+ God-ing, DRAMA and I apologize for none of it, F/M, Goddesses, Grieving Sam Winchester, Guilt, Linear Story Structure? Never heard of her., M/M, Pain, Three Act Structure, Where’s the music? Oh there it is, literally no character is infallible, the COMFORT of Hurt/Comfort!, the aftermath of metaphorical suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emi_theSassiestSousa/pseuds/Emi_theSassiestSousa
Summary: "Let's bring our family home."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My friends!! Hello!!! After such a long time!  
I'm so glad to be posting again, life kept me away from this story for too long, but now I'm back, baby, and ready to pick up this series again!  
So this here is Part Six, the final part of this plot arc. However, it is made up of three Acts. Y'all may have noticed that I prefer to post a complete story all at once, but right now, Act One is all that exists, so it is what will be posted. I figure that's preferable to posting nothing while I write the rest, right?
> 
> So. It's been long enough since the last update that I will say that you might want to re-read the end of ch 20 and the epilogue of Part 5 as well as the last scene of 'Fire and Rain', just to re-orient yourself with the whole spiderweb of what's all going on. The events of this Part pick up immediately where the plot of the last Part and mini-story left off. 
> 
> Also, Act One features time-jumping (I know, shocker) so in the interest of keeping things straight you'll notice that I continued using those dates from 'Fire and Rain', but if you find that you're still getting lost, _please_ let me know, because there are other methods I can try if this one just doesn't work. Experimenting with writing, woo!
> 
> Okay, so I had a shit-ton of notes for part 6, but I've tossed them all out to try to keep it short: While I was fighting writer's hibernation, I did a huge run-through to edit the first five parts of the series, re-vamping dialogue and tweaking things, bringing it up to my current standards, (isn't it crazy how much one's art can improve in just a year??) but if you're not inclined to re-read what is admittedly a _very_ long series, the new plot-pertinent info is:   
1) Bris has two tattoos, a ringed triquetra on her left bicep and a circle of three crows over her heart   
2) I added a bitchin' scene in Part 4 where Bris puts those waterguns and salt-hoops to good use, and   
3) most importantly, Sam's scene where we got rid of the demon blood was _completely_ re-written. No more glorified pain, no more purification language, none a' that. Cliff-Notes version: Rowena uses Cas's grace to "eat" the demon blood. But like. More poetically. :D
> 
> ***All previous warning tags apply to this Part as well.***
> 
> Thank you so much for coming back to my series after all this time away. I know reading an incomplete series is a risk, so I want to do right by all of you and finish this (first) plot arc strong! 
> 
> And so with that, I finally present, Part Six of A Change is Gonna Come: From the Fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A Change is Gonna Come](https://open.spotify.com/track/12YYFvwwuYiw010ONgfYlW?si=cflxf55nSw2GW4HZHVAnmg)
> 
> _I was born by the river,_  
_In a little tent,_  
_And just like the river, baby,_  
_I've been runnin' ever since,_
> 
> _It's been a long,_  
_Long time comin',_  
_And I know,_  
_Change is gonna come,_
> 
> _It's been too hard livin',_  
_But I'm afraid to die,_  
_'Cause I don't know what's up there, baby,_  
_Beyond the sky,_
> 
> _It's been a long,_  
_Long time comin',_  
_And I know,_  
_Change is gonna come,_
> 
> _Well, I go down to my brother,_  
_And I say,_  
_'Brother, help me breathe,' ('Brother, help me breathe,' oh)_  
_But he winds up,_  
_Knockin' me back down,_  
_On my knees, (On my knees) yeah, yeah_
> 
>   
_There'd been times where I thought I,_  
_Couldn't last for long,_  
_Now I think I'm able,_  
_To carry on,_
> 
> _It's been a long, (It's been a long,)_  
_Long time comin',_  
_And I know,_  
_Change is gonna come,_  
_Oh yes, it will,_  
_It's been a long (Said it's been a long, long,)_  
_Long time comin',_  
_And I know,_  
_Change gonna come,_  
_Oh, yes it will,_  
_Well, it's been a long, (said it's been a long, long)_  
_Long time comin',_  
_And I know,_  
_Change is gonna come, change, (change)_  
_I know it, I know, I know, I know, I know,_  
_Change, change gonna come_  


# Act One

**March 18, 2018, morning**

For the first hour, there was only chaos. 

~*~*~*~

Around the second hour, order finally began to settle out. 

Sam still _barely_ understood what had just happened in that cliff-side field in Texas. But he didn’t need to. 

He just needed a plan. 

One hand gripping the steering wheel as the Impala sped north, Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and began making calls. A local hunter was sent to monitor the angels, still fighting over Caprock Canyon. Others were alerted as backup. A rotation was set to keep eyes on the battle at all times. 

Sam did what he could with what he had. 

He could only hope it would be enough.

~*~*~*~

The battle would rage for days.

Baffled meteorologists dubbed the event a “self-contained tornado.”

The surrounding towns were evacuated. No one was injured.

~*~*~*~

**March 18, 2018, evening**

The Impala's engine rumbled low as it entered the bunker's garage. The car rolled slowly into its spot, paused, and the engine cut off. 

The silence filled the garage. 

Everything in Sam screamed to leap from the car, to run straight to the library and open every book they had— 

But he sat, his hands still holding the steering wheel. 

Beside him, Castiel was silent. Still as a statue in the passenger seat. 

Sam waited. Ten seconds passed. Then ten more. He waited. For something. For the right words to come. 

They didn’t.

Sam was about to turn, to say something anyway, to say _anything_, really— when Castiel looked up from his lap. 

His head turned, slowly, to his right, looking out the window. He blinked, once. Then seemed to register where they were. 

Castiel opened his door. 

And left the car.

Sam let him go without a word.

——— 

(That night, Castiel would find the cassette tape.)

(That night, Sam would lead Castiel back to the Impala.)

(Castiel wouldn’t return until well into morning.)

——— 

Sam left the Impala soon after Castiel. When he entered the library he went straight to the spread of books on the nearest table, still covering the surface where he'd left them yesterday. 

Just yesterday.

Just an age ago. 

Looming over the stacks, Sam pulled the largest tome forward and turned to a section near the back. During the nine-hour drive back from Texas, he'd decided that what he needed was, first, a standard, no-nonsense summoning spell. After that, maybe, just maybe, he could modify it, change an ingredient or a perhaps a word and _maybe_ he could use it to pull an angel from their— 

_ “Sam?” _ came a harried voice from the map room.

Sam winced over his book.

“Sam!” the voice called again. Footsteps rushed toward him, he shut his eyes, bracing himself— 

The footsteps halted. 

Sam eased, slightly.

There was a pause. Quiet. Heavy. 

Waiting.

So Sam answered it.

Still silent, still without looking up from where he stood beside the table, Sam reached for a nearby notepad. Then he took up a pencil. Then he began writing, noting a list of ingredients.

He heard the responding breath. Not a gasp, just a breath. Short and quiet. Shocked.

Hurt.

Sam kept writing.

The silence sat. Stunned. Then, “...Sam?” 

He winced again. At that word. At the sound of it. At the mountain of questions it held. At the barely-restrained concern behind it. At the _ fear _in it. At the love. 

“No. Not now,” Sam had to say. To all of it.

There was another pause here. Then the sound of shoes as they shuffled back, the soft movement of fabric, the scrape of a hand rubbing apprehensively over denim. 

An intake of breath, and, “So did… did you get ‘em?”

Sam’s upper lip twitched. 

“I got Cas,” he answered.

Silence again. 

Sam continued writing his list. 

Then a foot stepped closer. “Do you need—?”

_ “No,” _spat Sam.

Another small breath. 

There was a final beat of silence. Incredulous. Distraught. Then the footsteps again, retreating now, toward the kitchen. 

Sam returned to his list. 

Bris went straight to the liquor cabinets. 

~*~*~*~

The spell didn’t work.

The next spell didn’t work. 

The _ next _spell didn’t work and Rowena still wasn’t answering Sam’s calls. 

* * *

**March 18, 2018, morning**

For the first hour, there was only panic.

“Ye gotta get us down there!” Bris cried at Gabriel, whirling to him from the spot that Sam had just vanished from.

“Wha— No!” blanched Gabriel. “I’m not taking you back there just to—!”

“We gotta get him back! We can’t jus’ _ leave _him there! Gabriel—!”

“I won’t—!”

_ “Gabriel! _We can’t leave him there! We can’t—”

“He doesn’t _ want—” _

_ “I don’ care!” _ Bris stepped right up to him and wrapped her fists in his jacket. “I don’ _care _ what he said! _ Please, _ Gabriel, we gotta go after him, he’s gonna get himself ki—!”

“I _ can’t!” _cried Gabriel.

Bris froze. Her breath choked and caught in her throat. 

She drew back to more fully look up at him, each half of the jacket's cold zipper cutting into her palms. 

“N— No..." she said, her eyes darting over him in disbelief. "No, you—”

“I used everything I had left getting you and Sam back here.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I can’t.”

“No...” she shook her head, a tiny motion, _ “no, _ please...”

Gabriel didn't answer.

Her fingers slipped in their grip. “No. No, Gabriel...” 

He still didn’t answer. 

“No!” She shook him sharply. “No, we _ have _ to! We gotta—! _ Gabriel!” _

The archangel just shut his eyes.

Bris's breath was kicked out of her. Her vision blurred and she stared at him, open-mouthed... A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, and again.

And then her breath returned all at once, tumbling over itself in its rush to get in and she collapsed, falling against him, fists clutching, grasping for a hold. Gabriel flinched in surprise, but he stood, somehow he stood. His arms twitched out and Gabriel just stood there, helpless and impotent, as Bris sobbed brokenly into his shoulder.

~*~*~*~

She called Sam's phone. 

Then she called it again. 

Then again. 

And again. 

And again.

And again.

He never picked up.

The whiskey had no taste going down.

~*~*~*~

**March 18, 2018, evening**

Hours later and still there was no sign of Sam. No calls, no messages.

Nothing.

There was also no sign of Direl. 

_ He _wasn't answering his phone either, but at least _Direl_ had left a note for them, saying he'd headed to the bar to check there for Dean. 

Bris refused to leave the bunker to confirm that.

Instead she paced in the map room. Back and forth... Back and forth… Back and forth... Begging that the door above her would open, pleading to a God she no longer believed was even there.

Back and forth...

Back and forth...

Back and—

A noise in the library. 

In a breath Bris spun around and sprinted up the stairs, already calling out for him before she’d even reached the top— 

She found him. At the table. Just standing over a book.

Everything in her screamed to run right to him, to wrap her arms around him and never let go again— 

But he...

He didn’t answer her.

He didn’t even look up from his book.

The whole time she tried to speak to him… he didn’t look up at all.

So she left him there. Retreated to the kitchen. And pulled out yet another bottle of whiskey.

~*~*~*~

Gabriel agreed to stay. 

Bris knew he only agreed because she was crying and drunk.

She didn’t care.

~*~*~*~

**March 19, 2018**

Sam’s spell wasn’t working. 

He hadn’t left the table all of last night.

He hadn’t spoken a word to her since yesterday.

Bris broke at noon. She had to know. She had to know if this… if they... if this was... 

_ You_ _did this? _

...She had to know if she could fix this.

She approached him in the library, a slapdash sandwich in hand, her paltry excuse on a plate. She set it on the table, Sam jolted at the noise. 

He glanced at it, then returned to his book.

*Thank you,* he mumbled.

She stood there next to him. Sam was still standing low over the books on the table, the nearby chairs ignored. His hair was hanging flat and lanky. His chin bore the dark shadow of a day's worth of stubble. He was still wearing clothes from two days ago.

He still didn't look up at her.

Bris gathered herself, and took a steadying breath. 

“Sam?” she asked.

He grunted in response.

She opened her mouth— and faltered. So much wanted to leap from her at once, where could she even _begin?_

“D’ye still...” she tried. “Do you still want it?”

Sam sighed at the question. “Look, I’ll eat it when I—”

“No, not—” Bris jumped in. “Not that.”

_ You only help your spouse, _ Sam had shot just yesterday morning, _ and you sure as fuck don’t want me for that! _

At first Sam frowned, his brows bunched as he hunched over his page. Then he sighed once again, his shoulders tensing as he remembered. 

“Bris…” he started.

She braced herself. She’d had an entire day to prepare for this argument, to expect every way that this could explode— 

“...it’s fine,” he said.

Bris blinked.

She hadn’t expected that.

“It’s…_ ‘fine’?” _ she repeated. 

“Yeah. Just—" He released a rough breath in a huff. "Look, I’m sorry I even said anything about it, okay? I get that your coat is important. It— It’s fine.”

It's fine, he said. It's fine.

But Bris was watching him, watched how stiff he was standing, watched his face as it twitched, watched his hand that came up to fist at his hair.

Watched him stare, unflinchingly, _pointedly,_ into the damned book out in front of him.

“If it's fine, then… Sam...” she fought not to step forward, “...why won’t you look at me?”

He tensed again. 

“It’s not— This is not about your coat.”

“Then why’d you say—?”

“Because I was angry? Because I was just shouting things?” He pushed off the table to stand up straight, gesturing out in front of himself with his hands. “Bris, I didn't lie to you before, if you don't want to give me your coat, then I don't want it. If— If the only reason you ended up giving it to me was— was because I— No. I never, _ never _want that.”

Her heart swelled at that, how could it not? God, what she’d give to throw her arms around him and— 

“Then what is it?” she forced herself to ask instead. “Darlin’, if it ain’t that then it’s somethin’.”

He seemed to cringe at that, his jaw clenching unexpectedly. “It’s—” Sam started, his throat bobbing, "I—"

But he stopped, huffing another sigh.

“Look, it's nothing, okay?" he finally said. "I just— It's nothing. I have to get back to this research."

Well that was a load of crap. Bris frowned at him but he took no notice, bringing his hands up to rub at his deeply tired eyes.

So, just as she’d done countless times before— with Sam, with spouses and friends, with strangers even if needed— she dropped her gaze down to his chest. She looked down to his chest, seeing into his heart, reading his soul for the answers that were simply too difficult to say. Bris looked down, the most natural response in the world, and there in her Sam she saw— 

Just about nothing.

“But—” she said, utterly baffled, searching over the empty, almost _ calm _clouds of color swirling endlessly in on themselves. “But when ye left ye were..." Furious. Enraged. Incensed beyond measure. "Well I s'pose I just expected you’d be upset.” 

Sam’s frown deepened. He lowered his hands and turned, meeting her gaze for just a fraction of a moment as she raised her eyes from his chest.

He visibly winced. 

“Right,” he grunted, dry and empty, dropping his eyes again.

“Sam—”

He stepped back up to the table, leaning over his book, curling in over himself even tighter than before. 

“Sam,” she tried again, “please, tell me what else’s wrong.”

“Nothing.”

“Sam—”

“I said _ nothing_.”

“But—!”

_ “Bris—” _ His fist _ slammed _on the table, and Bris flinched back— 

Sam froze.

His jaw clenched and his fisted arm tightened. 

Then he slumped where he stood. 

He drew in a long, deep breath. 

“My _ brother _ is trapped in a battle that is raging as we speak,” Sam said over his book, his voice level, even, _ controlled _once more. “And I can’t find a way to get him back.”

Bris reached out a hand, “No now, love, I’m sure you’ll—”

_ “And the reason he’s even there,” _ Sam pushed on, halting her motion, “is because two of the people I trusted most, stopped me from saving him.”

"What?" She ticked back. "_I _ didn’t—!”

_“Don’t,"_ Sam gritted over her. "Don’t _even—_ ...Don’t.”

She fumed, but managed to bite back her tongue. 

“I don’t even want to talk about this right now,” Sam said, pulling the book closer. “It’s done. You and Gabriel did what you did, I managed to get Cas, and now I need to figure this out. I need to come up with a way to get Dean back before—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have to get Dean back.”

“A’course you do, but—”

_“So right now—”_ Sam leaned forward and pushed a book down the table toward Bris. “Right now, I need you to either help me, or leave.”

Bris stopped cold, pulled up short. She stared down at the book. Stared up at him. Gave half a second’s thought to turning on her heel right then and there. To turning on her heel in the face of ultimatum, to just walking away and marching straight back over to that cabinet—

But in the end... in the end... she could only step up to the table, could only step up to the space at his side, and pick up the damned book. 

“What’re we lookin’ for.” 

* * *

**March 18, 2018, morning**

For the first hour, there was nothing.

~*~*~*~

By the second hour, Castiel knew he was in a car.

_The_ car. 

The car was moving. 

Then it was slowing.

Then it stopped. 

Sam opened his door and stepped out, the vehicle dipping with his movement. Castiel slowly turned in his seat, watching him as he left. He saw Sam tuck away his phone. He saw Sam step over to a gas pump. He saw Sam pull out his wallet.

Castiel realized where he was. 

Where he _ wasn’t. _

It took only a blink of grace to bring the keys to his own hand. Then he was sliding across the bench, turning the ignition—

_ “Cas!” _ The door flew open and there were hands, grabbing and dragging— 

“No—!”

Sam tore Castiel from the car, throwing him hard up against the side, “What the _ fuck _are you doing?”

“I have to— I have to go back!” He wrenched in Sam's grasp to no avail. “I can’t leave him there—!”

“We're not _ leaving _ him_—” _

“What _ else _ is this? I have to—!”

“We're _ regrouping, _Cas! Falling back in order to—” 

_ “No! _ He’s only there because I—”

“Cas, don't—”

“Let go! I have to go back!” 

“We can't just—!”

“Get_ off—!” _

"Damn it! _ You can't save him if you're dead!” _

Castiel stopped pushing against the fists in his shirt, nostrils flaring as he _ glared _at Sam with all he had left. 

“I _ heard _Michael, Cas, we couldn’t stay there,” Sam said. “We couldn’t just stay there and wait for him to come back and—” 

“But I could have tried to—!”

“No! Just stop!” barked Sam. “Just fucking _ stop _ already! This is what got us here in the first place! This jumping in front of every _ fucking _bullet for—!”

“So you’d rather I _ hadn’t _—”

_ “This shit was supposed to be over!” _ Sam roared, shoving Castiel harder against the car. “This fucking _ bullshit _ with _ deals _ and _ sacrifices _ and _ bullshit_ was supposed to be _ over__!” _

“This was different!”

_ “How? _ How in the hell was this _ any _ different than _ every other time!” _

_ “Because—!” _

But Castiel stopped. 

Because it wasn’t.

It wasn’t different.

It was the same reason as before. The same reason as every other time before.

Sam dropped his hands from his shirt.

“Get in the car, Cas.” 

Castiel did.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.

~*~*~*~

They arrived at the bunker in just under nine hours. Castiel left the car in silence.

He stood in Dean’s room until he found the tape. 

He sat in the car long after its battery had died. 

~*~*~*~

**March 20, 2018, evening, almost three days after Texas**

Castiel was there when Sam got the call. 

Sam tapped at his phone as it rang on the table, answering it and putting it on speaker without looking away from his book. 

“What do you have?” he asked without greeting.

_ “Sam, man, I think they’re winning!” _ came a man's voice from the phone. _ “I think our angels are pulling through!” _

Bris looked up at Sam from her own book in her hands. Sam looked over at the phone.

“You think… Is the fight over?” he asked.

_ “No, but— maybe almost. I mean, things were looking bad, but now it looks like they’re pushing ‘em back, and you said you wanted updates when—Oh! Oh, shit!” _

Something… blinked out in Castiel.

_ “Shit, they did it! Oh shit, I think they did it!” _

Wait

Wait, where...

“Something is wrong,” said Castiel. 

Sam and Bris glanced up at him, then back to the phone where Sam’s contact was shouting: _“They did it! My god, they did it! They— My god, they pushed the smokers back through!”_

Where... 

It’s missing

_ “The big one— One of our big guys pushed theirs back through the portal!” _

Where is it

What is it

Where is it

_ “Oh my god. Holy— _ _ Shit__, man, this is the craziest shit I’ve ever—” _

“Are they landing yet?” Sam demanded. “Are the angels landing? Can you see Dean? I sent you that picture, can you see him?”

Something is missing

_What_ is missing

_ “Yeah, um, fuck— Yeah, there’s some landing now. The rift is closed and they’re cleaning up the last of the smokers. But I…” _

Something is missing

_ “But I don’t…” _

Something is _missing_

_ “I don’t see your guy.” _

Something that’s always there

Something that’s _ always _there

_ “I see the blond one, but… No, they’re all back on the ground and your guy isn’t there." _

Wait

_"I think..."_

Wait, no

_ "Yeah, I think…” _

No, wait, no—

_ “I think _ _our Michael pushed theirs right back through.” _

Something smashed to the ground at Cas’s feet.

_ “Shit! _Cas—!” hissed Sam.

Bris raised a hand to her mouth. Sam turned away from Castiel and grabbed for the phone, hurriedly taking it off of speaker as he stepped away from the table. “Are you sure? Jeff, man, are you sure?”

Castiel stared blankly, his eyes drifting down to his empty hands.

*I can't… I can't feel him anymore.*

Bris turned to him, her eyes wide and watery. Sam slumped forward, his back hunching even deeper. 

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Jeff,” he said into the phone. “Keep an eye on them, call me if they move.”

Sam hung up. He placed his hands on the table, his head falling low between his shoulders. 

Bris reached out a hand to him, but he tensed at the motion. She pulled back.

Castiel’s eyes darted across nothing as he searched and he _ searched _ but

"I can’t—" he said, "I can’t hear him. I can't feel his… I can’t…"

Sam shrank even lower. 

Then Sam stood again, dropping his phone to the table with a clatter, and turned to Castiel. 

“I didn't— It's always been there,” Castiel choked over his constricting throat. “It’s _ always _been there. All this time, it's always been—” 

“Cas—” started Sam.

“Years… It’s been _ years _…”

“Cas…” 

“I didn’t know.” Castiel looked up at him. “Sam— Sam, please, I didn’t know. It’s always been there but I didn't know. I didn't—”

Sam stepped forward, his boot crunching in the shards of the steaming mug Castiel had been bringing to him. 

But he stopped short, his hand hovering near Castiel’s shoulder. 

Castiel looked down again.

“It’s gone,” Castiel said to his shaking hands. “His— I can't hear his— It’s _ gone.” _

His longing is gone 

_ Dean _is gone

He’s _ gone _


	2. Chapter 2

**March 22, 2018, five days after Texas, two days after the rift closed**

_ “A chroí...” _

Sam twitched over his book.

“Sam,” Bris said instead. 

He shut his eyes with a sigh. “What?”

She set down the book she’d been holding, turning her full attention on him. “Ye need to talk to him.”

Sam tensed in his chair, as she knew he would. She’d said this to him twice now in as many days. 

He didn’t even give her an answer this time. 

She continued anyway. 

“He’s hurtin’, Sam, you know he’s hurtin’. He needs someone to—”

“Then you go to him.”

“I have.”

Sam sighed again, running a hand back through his hair. 

“He just needs ye to be there for him,” said Bris.

_ “Well, I—” _ Sam started over clenched teeth. He paused for a breath and tried again. “Look, I don’t even know what to say to him, alright? I’ve got nothing to tell him until I find something, and I’ve got _ nothing _ . The angels ran back off to Heaven, none of these spells will work across a dimensional divide— what am I even supposed to say?” He leaned over the table, propping his forehead in his hands. _ “Fuck…” _ he sighed. “Dean would know how to get him moving again. I swear, all he ever had to say was _ ‘C’mon, Cas,’ _ and he’d open right up.”

“That may be, love,” Bris said gently, “but Dean ain’t here. You are.”

Sam tensed with a cringe. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

He stood from the table, his chair scraping harshly across the floor, and left toward the kitchen.

And as he moved, Bris begged for a chance to see his heart again, even only just a glance...

But still he wouldn’t turn to her.

——— 

Sam headed straight for the coffee pot when he entered the kitchen. He picked up the can of grounds from where it now permanently lived on the counter and opened the unadorned lid, the post-it note having fallen off days ago.

It now sat at the bottom of the trash can.

Sam turned around as the machine began to gurgle, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter to wait it out. He let out a long, thin sigh... 

And finally realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Oh, um… Hey, Cas.”

Castiel, sitting hunched over the small wooden table by the wall, didn’t react.

Sam dropped his head with another, heavier sigh. “Look, Cas—”

*I shouldn't have left,* Castiel said. Quietly. Almost to himself.

Sam looked up again.

“We couldn’t stay,” he answered anyway.

Castiel just shook his head. “I shouldn’t have left.” he said again.

Sam raised a hand to his face, as if he could physically hold back yet another sigh. “I had to get you out of there, man,” he said plainly. “There was nothing we could do from there and Michael was going to come after you.”

“And why shouldn’t he?” said Castiel.

Sam blinked, drawing his chin back. “What?”

Castiel just stared at the table. 

Then, slowly, he turned, and he looked up, and caught Sam with empty, red-rimmed, despondent eyes. 

“The World is saved, Sam,” Castiel said, his voice low and flat and hollow. “Dean said yes to Michael and Creation was saved.”

“I-I mean— I guess so,” Sam responded weakly. “But— what does that have to do with anything?”

There was the tiniest shift behind Castiel’s eyes, from what to where Sam didn’t know. 

“Right,” Castiel said, somehow slumping even further than before as he turned back toward the tabletop. “I suppose it wouldn’t make any sense to you.”

Sam waited for more. He got nothing, so he prompted: “Well— Then could you explain it?” 

Castiel just stared at the smooth, knotted wood. 

Sam let his arms fall to his sides, gripping the counter behind him. “Cas..." he started, but trailed off, pausing to try to find the right words. "Cas, we left a… an impossible situation, a situation that we lost control over. There was nothing we could do. We couldn't stay.”

Castiel huffed, a short, derisive sound. “So I’m no better than Gabriel.”

Sam gripped the counter tighter.

“That isn’t the same, Cas.”

“How?”

_ "Because—" _ Sam started harshly. But he stopped himself. He began again, answering with a voice forcibly calm and even. Controlled.

“Because this isn’t the end of it," he said. "Because we aren’t giving up. We’re _ going _ to figure this out. We're _ going _to get Dean back."

Castiel didn't answer that.

"We didn’t run, we retreated. We pulled back to fight another day.” Sam chuffed dryly. “Seems like the kind of move you’d usually understand.”

Castiel didn't answer that either. 

His arms tightened around the bundle of leather clutched in his lap.

*I shouldn't have left,* was all Castiel said.

The room fell back into silence, tired and heavy. And Sam let it, let it hang there between them, saturated with unspoken questions, answers, and platitudes. 

The coffee finished brewing with its own drawn-out sigh. Sam flipped the switch off, picked up the pot, and took the whole thing with him back into the library. 

——— 

Over these last few days, Sam and Castiel had hardly spoken at all. 

In another time, under other circumstances, Sam knew Castiel would have already shot off like a rocket, launching himself head-first into fixing this.

But now… well, Sam tried not to begrudge Castiel his reaction. Because this... well, this...

_ Dean stepping back from Cas, the scream ripped from Cas’s throat, the light that had shot into Dean— Fire bursting on the ceiling, Sam’s own shouts as he was dragged back— _

...this Sam understood.

Now, Castiel wandered the bunker in a daze; that is, when he moved through the bunker at all. His fuse was short, his silences were long. He’d be in the middle of doing something and he’d just stop, and when Sam would look up Castiel would be still as a statue... staring... just staring at nothing...

To be honest, it was eerily familiar. 

Just last year, hadn’t Sam watched Dean go through these exact same motions?

...How the fuck had he missed this for so long.

Sam filled his empty coffee mug, made sure to set the hot pot on a trivet, and dove back into his books. 

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 24, 2018, a week after Texas, four days after the rift closed**

Bris stood at the stove, stirring a pot currently holding what meager offerings she could find in the kitchen. She’d need to make a run to the store soon, they were running low on nearly everything.

She reached for the pad of paper they used for shopping lists, but was paused by a voice that spoke up behind her.

“I don’t understand.” 

She turned from the stove to face Castiel, sitting alone at the island, that old leather jacket bundled in his lap. 

She’d been trying to talk to him for the past week, but so far had been met with steadfast silence. She understood it, expected it even. The shock after— after something like this… it almost always took a while to wind down. But now, it seemed Castiel might finally be moving on to the next steps.

“Don’t understand what, love?” she asked him gently. 

Castiel shook his head, staring down at the countertop. “Dean wouldn’t… Dean wouldn’t have done this.”

Ah, yes. There it was. 

She set her ladle down and walked over to join him.

“Something must have happened,” Castiel continued as she came to stand across from him at the island. “Something _ must _ have… Dean wouldn’t... He _ wouldn’t—!” _

“Hey now, hey,” Bris soothed, reaching out to pull one of his hands down from where it was fisted at his temple to hold it between hers resting on the cold metal. “I know you’re just tryin’a make sense a’ this in your head, I know. But trust me, dearie, it ain’t gonna work, okay? Ye gotta accept that he woulda done this, ‘cause he did.”

Castiel only shook his head harder. “No. No, it doesn’t make _ sense _ . It’s not the same as before, it’s not the _ same _ as ten years ago! Everything is different. _ Everything _is different and I shouldn’t have left him, I shouldn’t have left him when—!”

_ “Cas,” _ she stressed over him, squeezing his hand. “Cas... I don’t know what exactly happened down there in Texas, but I do know— an’ _ you _know— Sam would’a never left Dean at that place unless he had to.”

“No, no I—” He looked up into her eyes, his own now red and watery and full over with guilt. “...I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

Bris ignored the sharp tightening in her chest. “Perhaps not,” she had to agree. “But none of us coulda known he were gonna leave his room. We didn’t know, Cas.”

“But we should have.”

“But we _ didn’t,” _ she insisted, her shoulders tightening.

“_I _ should have,” Castiel said, looking back down at the counter. “I should have seen it, but he… But he promised. He promised he would let us try and…” His face contorted suddenly. “He _ promised! _ This doesn’t make any _ sense, _ he _ promised _he would wait and—!”

Shit, he went and blazed through that step. “Hey now—” tried Bris.

“No.” He pulled his hand back from her. _ “No, _ he _ wouldn’t _ have done this! Something must have _ happened, _ Dean wouldn’t have done this without some sort of—!”

Castiel cut off, looking up at something behind Bris. She turned around, following his gaze, and found Gabriel standing in the main doorway.

The room was silent. 

Castiel slumped in his seat, all the fight seeming to have gone out of him at once. He stood from his stool and crossed the room to the other kitchen door that led to the back hallways, leaving without another word.

Bris watched Castiel go, her heart heavy in her chest. Then she turned back to Gabriel. 

She couldn’t help but sigh at the look on his face, lost and pained. She nodded her head toward the stool Castiel had just vacated. 

Gabriel hesitated, then crossed the kitchen and took it, slumping over the counter as Bris returned to her pot on the stove.

“I shouldn't be here,” he said to his elbows.

“‘Course ye should,” Bris responded automatically. 

_ “Neither _ of them want me here—”

“They will.”

“Castiel won't even stay in the same _ room _as—”

“They _ will,” _ Bris repeated, steadfast and sure. “They just need time.” She opened a cabinet to retrieve a bowl. “We all do.”

Gabriel watched her back as she worked, serving up the woefully inadequate soup. 

“Okay,” he relented. “Okay.”

——— 

Bris entered the library with the steaming bowl balanced in her hands.

She set it down on the table near Sam, away from the papers strewn about but within his arm’s reach. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. 

But he didn’t reach for it. 

She sighed, restraining her own frustration.

“Sam, ye gotta eat,” she said.

“I’ll get to it,” he answered, not even glancing at it.

“I mean it, now. Ye ain’t hardly touched nothin’ in a week.”

“Bris...”

“Ye ain’t eatin’, ye ain’t sleepin’—”

“Bris—”

“Ye gotta know that you can’t keep this up!”

_ “Bris—” _

“Sam, I'm only tryin'a help!”

_“Well, I don’t—!”_ He stopped himself, hands balling into fists over his book. “You’ve already done plenty,” he spat.

Bris glanced down to his chest, hoping yet again that she might see anything of his heart. But just as he had for the past week, he was keeping it turned away from her. 

She looked back up at his face, also turned away.

*‘Done plenty’,* she repeated with a sigh. 

_You_ _did this? _Sam had asked, incredulous hurt laced in every word. 

“Sam, I—” She tossed her hands at her sides. “I can’t apologize for tryin’a save you.”

He twitched with a grimace. 

“I know,” he said.

Her brow furrowed. “You know?”

He turned. Ever so slightly he turned himself toward her, drawing a breath to speak. It was her chance. Keeping her eyes upon his face she leaned, just slightly over the table she leaned, and— Yes, there, finally, _ finally, _ she could see something, even if it was just in her periphery, but _ finally… _

Wait...

What she saw still didn’t make sense. There was still the largest wound of course, the freshest one of deep loss and longing, and the joys were dimmed as could only be expected, but overall Sam’s heart still looked the way it had when he’d come back from Texas: Smooth. Empty. _Calm._ But that didn’t make sense. With everything else that had happened there should be more, there should be _ something _— 

Hang on. There. A new wound was drifting forward now, stirring the swirls of color: a disappointment, a betrayal, a blissful hope that’d been dashed. 

She kept her eyes glued to his face as she watched it move.

“Bris, I get it. I do,” Sam was saying. “You were just… You saw we were in danger and you got us out of there. Of course you did. And I…” He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “...I shouldn’t have gotten mad.”

The wound_ vanished. _

“But, look, that’s not even a problem, okay?” Sam continued. “I’m in the middle of trying to translate these old notes we have from Kevin and—” 

_ Vanished— _ Sucked back in a blink— Just suddenly... _ gone _.

“Sam—” Bris interrupted him, because no... _ no, _ that was _ not _how hearts worked— “Sam, darlin’, what aren’t you sayin’?”

He paused, his brow knitted with an honestly puzzled look. “What?”

“What’s wrong? What’s really hurtin’ you?”

He twitched back, shaking his head just slightly. “What? I don’t— I told you—”

_ “Sam—” _ She leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, refusing to be daunted any longer, intending to turn him to face her properly— 

“What- Hey, no!” He jerked away, nearly falling from his chair. He raised an arm, keeping her back, and he stared at her with eyes wide with—

...Shame.

Her hand twitched toward him again. “Sam…” 

But he pulled further back. “Stop.”

She froze. 

She pulled her hand back.

He turned away. Leaned low over the table again. 

“I have to work on these notes,” he said.

She leaned forward, concern drawing her in and yet keeping her from stepping toward him again. 

“Sam…” she tried.

He said nothing.

“Sam, please...” 

He didn’t answer her. 

He wouldn’t. 

So she left. 

The soup went untouched. 

Another bottle of whiskey was emptied.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 24, 2018, evening**

“Um… Hey.”

Sam looked up from the notebook he was writing in, and found Gabriel standing at the other side of the table.

He returned his gaze to the papers spread all around him. “Didn’t think you would still be around,” he said.

Gabriel winced. 

He recovered quickly, though, his mouth cocking with a smile. “What, and miss out on all the fun around here? No _ way—” _

“What do you want?”

The smile dropped. 

Sam’s pencil scratched across his paper. 

Gabriel shuffled on his feet. “I, um...” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, see— resident princess told me— told me you’re working on a translation.”

“Yeah,” Sam clipped.

Gabriel lips twitched downwards. 

“Well...” he said carefully, “do you need any help?”

Sam’s hand stilled over the paper. He looked back up at Gabriel, “You think you can read this?”

“Don’t see why I couldn’t,” Gabriel shrugged. “Just wasn’t sure if, you know, if you would want me to—”

“No-no, yes, here!” Sam pushed some of the papers across the table. 

Gabriel took them, standing a little taller as he held up the sheets. “Oh, is this Cuneiform?” he said. “Elamite, right?”

“Yeah! Yeah, it is!”

“Huh. Um. Great!” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Hey, ah... You— you know that’s not their real name, right?” he said, smiling carefully again as he lowered the papers. “See, everyone _ else _ called them the Elamites, but _ they _ called themselves—”

“Gabriel, can you read it or not?”

“Oh— Ah—” He shrank back. “Yeah. Yeah, I can read it.” 

“Great,” said Sam. “Alright. We’re finally getting somewhere.”


	3. Chapter 3

**March 26, 2018, nine days after Texas, six days after the Rift closed**

“This is it!”

Gabriel and Bris jolted in their seats, looking up at Sam who had leapt to his feet.

“This is it! _This is it!” _ he shouted again, “Cas! _ Cas!” _

Castiel came streaking around the corner, jacket tucked under one arm and eyes wide with careful hope.

“Cas, _ look, _ this is— this is it!” Sam beamed. “This is _ it! _ There’s a— a-another way to create a portal!”

“What?” Castiel strode up to him, looking down at the papers. 

“The translation— th-the Angel Tablet— We had Kevin’s old notes from when he translated the Tablet, and Gabriel translated the notes, a-and Cas— Cas, there’s another spell!”

“From the Angel Tablet?” Castiel asked. He looked back down at Sam’s frantically scratched handwriting, “What do we need.” 

“Not much, it’s just like the other one,” Sam said, bringing the papers back to himself. “Nine Stitches of Time, the Torn Wing of a Fairy, a Seed of a Flawless Squall, whatever that is, and—” 

He paused.

“And what?” asked Bris.

“‘The— The Divine Essence of an Angelic Child’,” read Sam.

“Nephilim grace,” said Castiel.

Sam’s euphoria seemed to slip a fraction, but he shook his head and pulled himself right back up. “Alright, yeah. Yeah,” he said, “we’ll just find a nephilim. We’ll just— Yeah, there has to be at least _ one _hanging arou—”

“There are no nephilim on Earth,” said Castiel. 

Sam stopped dead, his eyes locked on Castiel. “H-how do you know?” he asked.

Castiel kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at Sam. 

“Because I lost one," he said. "And cut the heart from the other.”

From his tone alone, Sam knew that wasn’t some archaic turn of phrase. “Cas... you didn’t lose Jack.” 

“Why’re you even tryin’a get over there anyways?” asked Direl from the corner.

_ “Shit, _ what—!” Sam jumped a foot in the air, spinning to face Direl. “When the hell did _ you _get back!”

“‘Bout three days ago, mate. Fuck.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but just ended up closing it again. 

Direl raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, so, see, _ I’m _ thinkin’ he might not even be over there. Angels hold onto empty vessels all the time,” he said, tapping the book in his lap for some reason, “and that there was a ferocious fight down in Texas. Dean-o might never a’ left.”

Sam could only stare at him,, blinking.

Then he _ smiled. _

“He might not have left...” He spun to Castiel. “Dean might not have left!”

It took a second longer, but Castiel brightened, too. “That battle raged for _ days!” _ he said. “It was vicious, _ terrible! _Michael could have been gravely injured any number of times!”

Bris looked between the two of them. “Ah… why do that make youse so happy?”

“He might not have left!” Sam repeated, beaming. “Cas, he might still be here! Well, i-in Heaven. But he might be _ here! _ He might not have gone through at all!”

“Of course, of _course, _just like with Jimmy!” strained Castiel. He backed up a step, putting his fingers to his temple as he shut his eyes.

“Cas…?” asked Sam.

“Contacting Heaven,” Castiel clipped. Then he shook his head. “No one is responding. I’ll have to go to the portal.” 

“Alright, let's go,” said Sam, already moving toward the hallway.

“Oi, wait— What—?” started Bris.

“We'll call if we need you,” Sam said.

“But—” She and Gabriel stepped forward to follow—

“We'll call,” Sam said with finality. And he and Castiel disappeared down the hall.

Bris stared after them, their footsteps echoing back to them from down the long hallway. Then her face darkened, and she made to go follow them— 

_ “Ach, _let ‘em go, mac,” Direl said from his chair. “Doin somethin on his own volition’ll do Sam good.” He looked back down to his small paperback, smirking at the pages. “An’ besides, Lord knows those two out of anyone oughtta be gettin’ more time together, right?” 

“What? No, ye know what, stow it. I gotta—”

“He’ll be fine,” said Direl. “He’s got the angel with him. An’ as long as Cas don’t turn on him, or be secretly holdin’ the Devil inside himself again, Sam’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“He’ll be _ fine.” _

Bris sighed harshly through her nose, fists clenching at her sides. 

“Fine,” she said. “Fine. I’ll stay. ‘Course— ye know— that'll be givin' me plenty a’ time to be askin’ you where in the fuck ye _ was _fer a week.”

Gabriel sat up a bit straighter, the better to watch them both.

Direl cringed in his seat, and prepared himself for another hour-long session of fighting off his cousin.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 26, 2018, evening**

The sun hadn't yet set by the time Sam and Castiel entered the Angels’ playground. They marched straight across the lawn buried in three inches of snow, heading right up to the sandbox that contained the gateway to Heaven— 

Then they stopped, frowning as they looked around the empty park.

“Hey, isn't there usually… somebody guarding this?” Sam asked.

“Yes. There is” answered Castiel, equally perplexed. He raised his fingers to his temple, but his frown only deepened. “There's… there's hardly anyone speaking at all… And no one is answering my—”

“Then can you get us in?” asked Sam.

Castiel turned to him, concern etching his face. “Sam… you know you wouldn't survive that.”

“Right. Right, yeah,” said Sam, nodding it off. “Well- then can we get you in? I still have that one psychic's addr—”

Castiel snapped up, searching around them. 

“Cas—?” 

Castiel held up a hand at Sam. “Yes,” he said to the air. “Yes, it's me, where are—”

The spell drawn in the box immediately began to glow, and the smokey apparition of the portal to Heaven rose up, swirling bright and high before falling away again to reveal a small woman with long, wavy, dark hair, medium-brown skin, a round, full-cheeked face, and wearing a gray suit and coat, standing before them.

Castiel squinted. “Zadkiel?” he said.

“Castiel!” the angel beamed, springing forward to embrace him. “Castiel, oh, _ Castiel! _ I knew you would come! I _ knew _you would come back!”

“I—”

“They said you had left for good!” the angel cried. “They said you were gone, but I knew, I _ knew _that you would—!”

“Zadkiel,” said another voice.

Sam and Castiel turned in the direction of the stern voice, back toward the sandbox. There they found another woman had appeared, much taller than Zadkiel, with white skin that looked nearly tan against her impeccably combed shock of brightly-white hair. She also wore a gray suit, and was watching Zadkiel with sharp, hawk-like eyes. 

Eyes that Castiel knew all too well.

*Naomi,* he breathed.

Naomi barely glanced at him, instead keeping her focus on Zadkiel, who had leapt away from Castiel at her appearance. 

“Return at once,” Naomi commanded the angel. 

Zadkiel complied immediately, his eyes downcast to the snow. 

But as the smoke rose from the sand to return him to Heaven, he looked up at Castiel once more, a definite spark now lighting his gaze.

When he was gone, Naomi turned those unblinking eyes on Castiel. 

“Why are you here?” she clipped.

Castiel stared at her, hadn’t looked away since the moment she’d appeared, his eyes flown wide and his neck pulled taught. 

*You’re dead,* said Castiel, his empty sword hand twitching at his side.

“Evidently not,” she answered curtly. “Now why are you here, Castiel?”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but his words piled up in his throat. His heart was racing in his chest and his hands began to tremble— 

Sam shifted next to Castiel, his shoes crunching softly in the snow.

Castiel shook himself, blinking the shock from his eyes. He drew himself up to his full height, and nodded toward the sandbox. 

“I… I need to know…” he said, “if Dean Winchester is in Heaven.”

Naomi tipped her head slightly to one side. “Do you,” she asked.

Castiel frowned. “Well— Yes,” he said.

A beat passed in silence.

“A shame you will be leaving unsatisfied. Goodbye, Castiel.” She turned back to the portal.

“Hey—!” started Sam.

“I won’t be leaving, Naomi,” Castiel said, taking a step after her. “You— You _ will _answer me. Or else I will find out for myself.”

Naomi turned back, slowly, now regarding Castiel with a look that merged fury, contempt, and honest curiosity.

“You are truly Lost, aren’t you?”

Castiel’s brows twitched together, but he otherwise showed no reaction. “Is he in Heaven or n—”

“You know, for a moment there, at the Rift, when you offered yourself to Michael I had honestly thought that you’d finally realized your follies,” Naomi said. “But after that display, after such _ blatant _disregard for your Oath—”

“I’m not here to argue my personal—”

“You _ ran, _ Castiel,” Naomi stressed over him. “We are Sworn to serve and when Michael Called upon us you _ ran.” _

Castiel dropped his eyes to the ground. “I don’t serve Heaven,” he said.

“Then who _ do _you serve, Castiel?”

He looked back up at her. He did not answer.

“Do you know how many Angels are left after that battle?” Naomi asked of him. “Seven. _Seven_ angels are left in Heaven. _ Seven _angels survived the fight for Creation.”

Castiel’s lips parted as his shoulders fell. “I—”

_“Seven angels_ and _Lucifer _are doing all we can to hold Heaven together, doing _everything_ we can to keep the Realm from falling apart and losing the _billions _of souls in our care. And now you would come to us, after _everything _you have done, after the carnage you have wrought with your _willful ignorance— _You would come here, asking after one_ infinitely troublesome_ man, and expect us to—”

_ “I would,” _ cut in Castiel. 

Naomi stared at him. She blinked once. 

Then she sighed, and looked down her nose with clear disdain. “You always were my most difficult case.”

Castiel squared his shoulders. “I’ll only ask you once more: Is Dean Winchester’s soul in Heaven.”

“Dean Winchester Ended when he fulfilled his Role,” Naomi said. “He is not here.”

Castiel stood firm, betraying no reaction to that. He glared at her a moment longer, his eyes hard and unreadable as he faced her down. 

Then he turned on his heel, his coat flaring around him, and marched back toward the car. 

Sam glanced once between the two angels, then quickly followed Castiel.

They were halfway across the snowy lawn when Naomi spoke again:

“You could still return,” she called after them.

Castiel stopped in his tracks. 

“You could still Repent, Castiel. You could still come home.”

Castiel turned around to face her, the deepest scorn burning in his eyes. 

“Heaven is not my home,” he said.

Naomi drew back. “Castiel—”

_ “And I do not ask for, _ nor do I need, _ your _Forgiveness.”

He turned once more and went straight to the car, giving Naomi no space to respond. Sam followed closely behind him, with a cautious hand moving to the gun at his hip. 

But Naomi only watched them leave. As they walked away, she quietly stepped back into the sandbox, and disappeared into glowing smoke. 

———

Sam and Castiel entered the car, slamming the doors behind them. Sam pulled the keys from his pocket, but he didn’t start the engine right away. 

Silence stretched between them until Sam turned in his seat.

“Cas... you know you didn’t—”

“Please,” Castiel said, shutting his eyes. “Please, just drive, Sam.”

Sam looked at him a moment longer. Then he faced forward again, turned the key in the ignition, and backed the car away from the curb. 

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 27, 2018, 1:00am, twelve hours since Sam and Castiel left**

Bris stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway, turning right toward the library, and ultimately, the kitchen. Her sleep had been fitful tonight, as it had been all this past week and a half, faced with lying in bed alone all that time. Now though, the bottle next to her bed was once again empty, and, in need of something to knock her out, and perhaps to dull the sharp pain in her chest, she was off yet again to make her way to that cabinet that the boys kept so well stocked. 

But as she walked toward the threshold to the library, she was paused at the sight of someone else already standing there. She instinctively twitched toward the knife shoved into her pajama bottoms, but relaxed as she recognized just who was staring at the first door in the hall, a dark leather jacket clutched tight in their arms. 

She approached Castiel slowly, stopping just near enough that he would know she was there. 

She waited, but he said nothing. 

“Cas...?” She leaned forward slightly. 

“You said I was strong,” he said, his eyes not leaving the door. “You said I was good.”

She shut her eyes, her shoulders drooping with a sigh. “Cas… I said that ‘cause it’s true.”

“It's not.” His hands tightened in the jacket. “It can't be.”

“You callin’ me a liar?” she asked gently.

The side of his nose twitched. 

He shook his head a fraction. “If I were good…” he said, “If I were good, then how could I let this happen?”

Bris held in another sigh, looking at him now with soft pain in her eyes. 

“It's normal to feel that,” she said to him. “When a… partner… When this happens, it's normal to feel… as though ye coulda stopped it if only you'd'a tried harder. As though you oughtta done more.” 

“No.” He shook his head again. “No, I… I shouldn't have done _ anything.” _

Bris dipped her chin back, “What?”

“I should have… I shouldn’t have done anything, I should have just let Dean be.”

“You…?” Bris started. Then she realized what he meant. _ “Oh, _ no, Cas—”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have followed the Rules and— and stayed away,” Castiel said. “I thought I could have this, I thought I could do this one thing, but everything I touch falls apart and I should have just held my tongue but I was _hopeful _and _selfish _and—”

“Cas—”

“What would forty or fifty years be compared to this!” he burst, spinning to face her. “What would a few decades be to me if it meant Dean could— I put my desires over his well-being! I _always_ put what I want over what I _ know _I should do—”

“But, Cas—”

_“I asked you for help,”_ he spat at her. “I asked you for _ help _ so that I could be rid of this! So that something like this wouldn’t _ happen! _But then _you_ said I should—”

“A’_ course _you shoulda!” she shouted, finally finding a foothold. “He needed ye, so I toldja to go to him! How could ye think— Look, whatever happened down there in Texas, this weren’t on you, Cas. You was only followin’ yer heart! An’ ye can’t go wrong followin’ yer heart!”

At that, Castiel’s eyes dropped their fury, falling to regret as they lowered to the jacket held tightly in his arms. 

“And yet I did.”

Before Bris could answer, Sam turned the corner from the hallway that led down to the storeroom, holding a small wooden box and fiddling with a set of keys. “Alright, Cas, I got it, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Bris asked. 

Sam stopped short, freezing in place as his eyes jumped up to her. 

He held the box tighter over his chest. “Dean… Dean wasn’t in Heaven.”

Bris glanced pointedly at the keys. “Alright...?” she prompted.

“So we’re checking Hell,” answered Castiel. He moved past Bris to head back down the hall toward the garage. 

Bris looked again to Sam, but he had already turned to lead Castiel to the garage, leaving her standing in the hall.

Alone. Again.

The whiskey she found that night was off; flat, stale, and wrong. But it was all she had, or else face the night alone; so she held the bottle close, and she drank it deep.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time-jumping returns in this chapter!

**March 26, 2018, the car ride back from Heaven’s playground**

Sam was able to hold his tongue for all of half an hour.

“So do you believe what that angel said?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel sighed, bringing his gaze back from looking out the window. “Yes, at least for now.”

“Alright.” Sam nodded. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, as much as I don’t want to suggest it—”

“You want to check Hell.”

“Yeah.” Sam pressed his lips together. Then he caught sight of the frown Castiel was giving him. “I know, man, but— He could have been... redirected or something. I mean, _ Bobby _ended up in Hell—”

“Bobby was stolen. Crowley _ stole _Bobby’s soul.”

“Yeah, and Crowley is King again. What, you think he _ wouldn’t _steal Dean if he had the chance?”

Castiel went so disturbingly still, Sam could _ feel _it. 

Sam glanced over from the road. “...Cas?”

Castiel shoved a hand into his pocket, digging out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Calling Crowley.”

_ “Ah— _Wait a sec.” Sam reached out a hand at him. “Maybe— Maybe let me do that.”

“You’re driving.”

“I know, but— Well, he kind of hates you now.”

“He’s always hated me.”

“Yes, but— but, you know— you almost _literally_ burned Hell to the ground and— Here, please, just let me do it.”

Sam pulled out his own phone and carefully dialed Crowley. 

“I haven’t tried him or Rowena in days,” he cautioned as the phone rang on speaker, “and they haven’t answered any of my messages, so I wouldn’t get your—”

_ “Moose!” _ Crowley’s voice greeted him jovially. _ “Looks like you survived our latest apocalypse! Thought you’d be off on a well-deserved vacation by now, the hell do you want?” _

“Hey— Ah— Crowley.” Sam gave the phone an odd look. “Um. I, ah… I... kind of have a question.”

_ “I probably have an answer,” _Crowley chortled.

Sam sighed, preparing himself for the whiplash sure to come.

“Is— Look, is Dean in Hell?” 

The line went silent. 

Crowley took a short breath. _ “Yeah, don't-know-don't-care. Goodbye.” _

“Wait, please, Crowley, is he in Hell?”

_ “Wait, please, Moose, I don't care.” _

“Please, I just need a quick—”

_ “I’m not even _ _ there_ _ anymore, you moron, ask the new management. Ask literally anyone else.” _

“The new—? Crowley what happ—”

The phone beeped at him and flashed the call time. 

Crowley had hung up.

Castiel looked over to Sam. “...Perhaps I should call him—” 

_ “No! _ No— That would just be... so much worse.” 

Sam dialed Rowena for good measure. She didn’t pick up.

“Alright,” Sam said, gesturing with his phone. “Alright. Well. Then... Then I guess we just need to talk to someone currently _ in _Hell.”

He shared a glance with Castiel.

“Crossroads demon,” they said together, and agreed on a plan on the way back to the bunker.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 27, 2018, 3:00am**

The Impala rumbled to a stop at a cross of two gravel roads a few hours out from Lebanon; so far away, because even out here in rural Kansas, an actual intersection of gravel roads was hard to come by, much less _ find _when most of those roads were consistently buried in the shifting snowdrifts dominating what was supposed to be early spring.

Sam stepped out of the car with the little wooden box in hand, already packed with the necessary ingredients after his stop in the storeroom. He walked around to the back of the car and popped the trunk, intending to grab a shovel. 

Castiel got out of the car and moved directly to the crossroad. Not even glancing at Sam, he held his hand out over the ground, his eyes lit, and a hole appeared in the road.

Sam looked up at the noise of shifting rock, then huffed. “Dude. You can save your energy, I could have done that.”

Castiel just shifted impatiently on his feet.

Sam shut the trunk and approached him, bending down to bury the little wooden box. He stood, brushing the cold gravel off his hands, and moved back to stand by Castiel to wait.

And wait.

...And wait.

*Fuck,* Sam sighed. “Okay, well... Rowena said that hole in Massachusetts is still—”

“Sam.” Castiel nudged him.

Sam followed his gaze back out to the road. 

Standing before them now was a woman, white-skinned, with long blonde hair trailing over her shoulders. She wore a bright red cocktail dress, beige stockings, and nothing more. 

“Saaam _ Winchester,” _ she leered, her eyes flashing demon-red over a steely smile. “Oh, have I been _ waiting _for you to call.” 

Castiel glared at her. “You certainly took your time getting here to see him.”

Her gaze flicked to him, a blink clearing the tint from her eyes. “Your cat had a white spot,” she said.

“What?” asked Sam.

“Your _cat_," she repeated. "The summoning spell calls for the bone of a _ black _cat, and yours…” she tipped her head to one side, “had a white spot.”

Sam and Castiel exchanged looks.

“Lucky for you, though,” the woman continued, turning back to Sam, “_ I _ have a little pull, and _ you _have a little in.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked with suspicion.

_ “Ohh... _You don't recognize me, do you?” Her shoulders drooped with a pitying pout. “I _ did _try to find a similar body for you, but even so it’s been, what, maybe ten years for you now? Fifteen?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Come now, Sam, don’t say you’ve already forgotten me. I thought we had more than that.”

“Look, I really don’t—”

“Perhaps I wasn’t all that important to you after all,” the demon mused. “Perhaps I really _was _just another bitch you managed to get killed, just another day in the life of Sam _Winchester, _right? Just another woman _gutted _and thrown into the _burning _maw of fate for you and your brother.”

Sam’s heart stopped. 

_ Everything _stopped. 

He stared at the demon in front of him, praying, pleading, _ begging _ to anything listening that he was wrong, please, _ please _let him be wrong— 

*Jess?* he breathed.

Castiel snapped to face Sam.

“Ah, _ there _ it is!" the demon crowed through a smile. "Wow, if I had feelings anymore they’d be crushed!” 

The woman laid an arm across her waist and swept the other one wide, bending forward in a sarcastic bow. “Yes, my dear Sam, I am the broken soul formerly known as Jessica Moore, Queen of the Crossroads, at your most _ humble _service.”

“Qu- _ Queen?” _

“And again you attack my pride. You know, this isn’t a very good start to getting what you wanted here.”

“I— I-I’m sorry— I'm sorry, I—” Sam sputtered. Then he shook his head at her, “No. _ No, _ you _ can’t _be—”

“Oh what, did you think I was going to _ Heaven?” _ she jeered at him. “I was taken by a Prince of Hell, Sam, I was _ never _ going _ there.” _

“No…” Still Sam shook his head, he couldn’t stop shaking his head. “No, Jess— No, I’m so sorry—”

“I’m sure you are, Sam,” she said placatingly. “But it means nothing now, doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t know…” he moved slightly forward, “Jess, I didn’t know—”

“Sam.” Castiel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Sam turned to face him, but Castiel's cold glare was still trained upon the demon.

“Yes, Sam, I do believe you came here with a purpose,” she said. She turned that smile onto Castiel. “And might I just say how much I _do _appreciate you bringing a defused warhead to this Deal, as opposed to something more… advantageous.”

Castiel didn’t even flinch.

“I— I didn’t come to make a Deal,” Sam said, his voice small and breathless. “I have a— I-I have a question.”

She slid her eyes back to him, raising one dark eyebrow high. “Well that hardly sounds enticing.”

“My… my brother,” Sam said. “Dean... is he in Hell?”

The frown of annoyance on the demon's face smoothly bloomed into a wide, toothy grin. 

_ “Oh,” _ she crooned, “now that _ is _an interesting question.”

“Yes or no, demon, is he in Hell?” Castiel snapped. 

“Cas—”

“Now, see, I _ would _ tell you, I would…” she started, looking up at them through long, batting lashes, “but what would _ I _ be getting out of it?”

_ “Pamphicas!” _ Castiel lurched forward, dropping his blade from his sleeve— 

“Cas!” Sam grabbed him by the arm, struggling to hold him. "Hey! Cas, _ Cas— _"

“Ohh, Angel, I'd listen to him!” the demon taunted. “One more move from you and I’m out of here!”

Castiel stopped, still glaring at the demon, his shoulders heaving. Then he yanked his arm from Sam’s hold and grudgingly stepped back, though his blade stayed ready in his hand.

“Jess,” Sam said, turning back to the demon. “Is Dean in Hell?”

“Sam, my dear, I _ want _ to tell you, I do, but there are _ rules _ that I’m held under. I can’t just well _give _you information for free, can I?”

She spread her hands toward him, almost in a beckoning gesture. Sam's eyes darted across her, over the unfamiliar features, his brow wrinkled and his lips twitching.

Then he sighed, and he let his eyes fall shut. 

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Sam—!” Castiel burst.

Sam held up a hand at him.

“Oh, not much, my dear,” the demon soothed, “certainly nothing as_ extravagant _ as your _ soul _ . In fact, _ just _for you, all I’ll ask for, in exchange for one, completely true, no-twists answer to your question,” she leaned forward, “is a favor.” 

Sam winced. 

“I… I can’t do that, Jess.”

_ “Mm? _Well of course you can. Certainly it’s the _ least _you can do for me.”

“No. Ask for something else.”

“Why? That’s what I want.”

“I won’t give you that.”

“Why not! It’s not like you need it for later. Come now, my dear, it won’t even be anything big. Not like I’m going to ask you to topple any governments for me. Probably.”

“Jess, I can’t—” Sam clenched his fist at his side. He looked back up at her with watery eyes. “Jess... come with me. Come back with us, I can help you—”

“The help I need is for you to give me this, Sam.”

“I can help you, Jess, I can cure you, I can _save_ you—”

_ “Sam. _You and I both know that curtain fell long ago.” She stepped towards him, tossing her flowing blonde hair behind her. “You’ve already failed me. Utterly and completely.”

The tears finally spilled over Sam’s cheeks. He ducked his head.

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, shifting himself in front of Sam once again. “This _isn’t_ a Deal, demon. Answer the question.”

“Oh, but it is,” she responded, that cold smile now returned. “I have information you want, and I want something in exchange. That, by definition alone, is a Deal waiting to be made.”

_ “Answer _ the _ question.” _Castiel raised his blade.

Her chiding expression slipped a fraction. “You are in no position to be making demands, angel.”

“And yet I am making them.”

Her face twisted into a snarl.

“Jess, please—” started Sam.

“Don’t you _ ‘please’ _ me, Winchester!” she shot at him. “I owe you less than _ nothing!” _

“If you won’t tell us,” said Castiel “we’ll just find someone else to—”

“Oh- _ Who?” _she snapped with a laugh. “Who else are you going to go to? I have the most loyal following Hell has ever _ seen. _ One word from me and no demon will speak to _you two_ again. _ Ever_. So if you want answers about _ sweet little Dean, _ you _ will _ make me a Deal, _ end _of discussion.”

Sam’s face went sharply dark. 

He threw up an open hand at her, his eyes lighting white, and before she could react she was jerked across the frozen gravel into his waiting grip. In a blink his hand was around her throat, his Knife was against her heart, and he loomed, tall and immovable, over her.

_ “Is. Dean. in Hell,” _ he gritted.

Castiel had flinched back, and now watched with his blade at the ready, his expression tinged with both confusion and horror.

*No,* she strained around his hand.

Sam's eyes fell shut for just a moment, then he regathered himself and jostled her closer, pressing more insistently with the Knife. “If you’re lying—”

“Oh, believe me, I’m well aware of the kinds of consequences you deliver. There are no Winchesters in Hell.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “None?”

“Not a single one. Angels are many things, but they take care of their toys after death.” She smirked up at him. “Recent generations excepted, of course.”

Sam's eyes searched between hers, looking for a crack in her defiant demeanor. 

He lowered his Knife and released her with a shove. She caught her footing quickly, and smoothly backed away from him, standing tall and regal once again. 

“Well now,” she said, pulling her shoulders back, “if we’re _ quite _done here, I believe I’ll take my leave.”

She turned away. But Sam said, “Wait.”

She faced him again, questioning him with a look.

“I will help you, Jess,” Sam promised. “I will save you.”

The look on her face turned soft, though it maintained that edge of steel behind it. 

“Oh, Sam,” she said on a sigh, “no you won’t.”

Then she turned away once more, and she vanished.

——— 

Sam slammed the car door behind him as he dropped into the driver’s seat, throwing the cold, dirty wooden box over his shoulder into the back of the car, where it landed next to an empty, dinged-up, forgotten pill bottle. He’d already turned the engine over by the time Castiel sat down, and threw the car into drive before the passenger door had even shut, peeling out at a speed that was definitely inadvisable for the condition of the roads.

Castiel watched him as he drove, waiting until the car had pulled back onto the slightly safer highway before he spoke. 

“Should I assume we aren’t going to talk about that?”

“Talk about what,” Sam snapped, barely glancing at him.

“Well,” said Castiel, “it would seem you just used some sort of telekinesis on that demon.”

Sam opened his mouth, then turned in his seat to throw Castiel an incredulous look. _ “That’s _ what you’re—? You knew about that.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“What—? But— But you were _ there _when I stabbed Asmodeus!”

“I assumed that was Gabriel.”

Sam rolled his eyes and faced fully forward again. “Yeah. No. That was me.”

They fell into a tense silence. Castiel continued to stare at the side of Sam’s head. Sam resolutely looked out at the road.

Sam tightened his grip on the wheel. “So now what?” he asked. “He’s not in Heaven, he’s not in Hell. He couldn’t be in Purgatory, right?”

Castiel sighed, finally turning to look out the dark windshield. “No, he couldn’t be in Purgatory. _ Shouldn’t _be, anyway.”

“So where else can we look? Any other secret Realms I don’t know about?”

“No, there’s only the Empty, and he couldn’t go there either.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Fairy Realms?”

“No, no. The Fae have no claim over Dean.”

“Well there _ was _that one time he was abducted and may or may not have serviced Oberon, King of the Fairies.”

Castiel spun to face him, eyes flown wide.

“Uh—” Sam’s glance skipped over to him. “...Guess we never mentioned that to you, huh.”

“No. You _ didn’t.” _

The tension in the car tightened further. 

Sam cleared his throat. “So... now what?

Castiel glared a moment longer, then turned back toward the windshield once again. 

“Now we ask the only ones who will truly know,” he said. “Now we call upon the Reapers.”


	5. Chapter 5

**March 27, 2018, 10:00 am, seven hours after the meeting at the crossroads**

Bris stood in the library with her arms crossed, her weight on one hip, and a wary eye casting over the sigils Castiel was painting in a large circle on the floor. 

“So…” she asked slowly, “_ this… _ is how we summons an angel a’ death?” 

“No,” answered Castiel. “This is how we hold one.”

Bris looked across the circle at Sam, then over to Gabriel who was standing just behind him. The later just nodded. The former didn't say anything at all. 

_ “M‘kay…” _ she said, “so… then... hows do we summon one?” 

The others all glanced at each other. Sam and Gabriel looked away from her, and ultimately it was Castiel who answered again.

“Reapers can’t be summoned like demons or gods or typical angels,” he explained. “They’re a class unto themselves, serving Death more than they serve God. They go where they are needed, and only appear in this Realm when it’s time.”

Bris waited for him to continue. He didn’t. 

So she leaned forward. “When it’s time fer...?” she prompted.

“For someone to die.”

Bris glanced up again. Sam and Gabriel still wouldn't look at her. 

She raised an expectant eyebrow at Castiel.

“One of us needs to die,” he clarified.

_ “What?” _ she burst. Sam and Gabriel flinched. “No, that's—! Sam?” Sam wouldn't meet her glare. “What—? No! _ Absolutely _ not! You are _ not _about to—”

“We have a trick,” Sam finally said, “an injection that kills you for seven minutes and then—”

_“__What__!? __No__!_ _Jaysus_ _fuck__,_ tha’s the wors’ idea I ever—!”

“The Reaper won't come otherwise! I _ have _to—”

_ “You?” _strained Bris, Castiel, and Gabriel. 

“If anyone should take this risk, it's me,” said Castiel. 

“What? No, Cas, we don't even know if it’ll work on angels,” said Sam.

“I'm the one who—” Castiel stopped himself. “I’m the one who failed Dean. I should do this.”

“You—? No, man, come on, you did everything you could, more than you should’ve. I'm the one who didn't get there in time.”

“You got us to him as fast as you could.”

“Not fast enough.”

“Sam, I can't take the chance that you won't return—”

“But you think that I can risk _ you? _”

_ “My god, _ do you lot _ ever _let up?”

The four of them turned to the kitchen entrance, where Ketch was leaning against the doorframe, dunking a tea bag into one particular mug.

“What?” said Sam.

“I _ asked _ if you ever _ let up. _Honestly, this is so typical of your kind.”

“Our _ kind?” _

“You _ Winchesters. _ Really, now, you don't see it?”

The four of them glanced at each other, then back to him.

Ketch rolled his eyes, taking a sip off his tea as he walked over to them. “It was all _ over _ your files but I never imagined it was this _ ridiculous. _ You each try to take the blame for every errant happenstance onto yourselves in order to avoid dolloping it on anyone else— _heaven forbid— _the whole time shoveling fuel into your personal constant cycles of flagellation and self-loathing. It’s utterly exhausting, borderline _ annoying_. I mean, _ really, _ can't you see that this was all dear _ Dean's _ problem?”

The others went silent. Then Sam took a purposeful step forward. “_What.” _

_ “He's _ the one who couldn't handle his own ridiculous issues,” Ketch said, obliviously taking another sip of tea. “It's his own fault he couldn't take it; just not made of the right stuff, truth be told. No, what that poof _ really _needed was a good—”

Bris and Castiel jumped forward, but Sam beat them to it. 

Ketch was dead on the floor before the echo of the gunshot even faded. 

Bris glared down at the body. “Fuckin’ _ thank you, _ already.”

“Seriously,” echoed Gabriel.

Castiel straightened up, his eyes lit and his hand outstretched with the effort of snatching Dean’s mug mid-air before it could hit the floor. He'd floated it back to himself to cradle it carefully in his hands, inspecting it for damage, when his eyes shot back to Ketch’s body. 

“Get him in the circle!” 

The others only needed a moment to understand and hurried forward, helping Castiel move the body into the spell circle. Ketch had fallen partway over the markings, so it took only a quick tug and a push to get him fully enclosed. No sooner had they stepped back again than a man appeared beside the body.

He was a man of average height, with tidy, straight black hair styled perfectly above a brown, finely-wrinkled face, wearing a black suit, a short beard, and a bored, yet sour expression. He looked down at the markings on the floor, tutted at them, then brought his gaze up to the small crowd before him. 

“You're holding up my work,” the Reaper said. “I have many places to be, you know.”

“Apologies, brother,” offered Castiel. 

“Rasul,” the Reaper said with a polite nod.

“Rasul.” Castiel nodded back. “We won’t hold you long, we just have a question to ask you.”

“I will not reveal the expected times of your deaths, nor return to you any departed loved ones.”

“Oh, no, nothing so ordinary.”

“No?” Rasul shifted his weight, clasping his hands in front of himself in evident interest. “Well, then by all means, please continue.”

Sam stepped forward now, nodding in turn at Rasul. “Please," he said, "we just need to know— Where is my brother? Dean Winchester, where is he?” 

Rasul turned to Sam, calmly and with an air of bemusement. “Why? Have you misplaced him?”

“He—” Sam pressed his lips together with a huff. “He wasn't in Heaven or Hell. I-is he in Purgatory? Or the Empty? O-or another Realm?”

Rasul raised an eyebrow at him. “There _ is _ an order to these things, you know. A very _ strict _ set of rules. Every. Creature. Has its. Place,” he said, pointing to Sam, Bris, Castiel, and Gabriel. “Your brother most _ certainly _would not be in a Realm not meant for him.”

“He’s already gone to Purgatory once,” noted Castiel.

Rasul faced Castiel now, giving him a look that could only be described as _ deep _disapproval. “An unfortunate incident,” he clipped.

“Well if he isn’t there,” asked Sam, “then where is he?” 

Rasul pulled his shoulders back, straightening himself up as he looked back to Sam. “Well, to be perfectly frank,” he said, “we don’t know. Dean Winchester has not passed by the Reapers, though we have felt him most urgently.” 

Sam looked to Rasul concernedly. “Felt him?”

Rasul gave a short hum, now looking at them all with gentler eyes. “Yes,” he said, “I’m afraid the _ only _thing he longed for more than us… was you.”

Sam, Castiel, and Bris exchanged looks. 

*Us?* asked Bris.

“You,” Rasul nodded.

The room was quiet for a very long moment.

Rasul leaned forward. “I do have _ many _appointments today. May I go?”

“Yes… Yes, of course…” Castiel stepped forward, holding the mug tightly in his hands as he rubbed at the paint on the floor with his shoe. “Yes… Thank you for your help, brother.”

“You’re very welcome,” Rasul said with another polite nod. Then he vanished.

The room fell silent. No one spoke.

Then Gabriel carefully stepped forward, nudging at Ketch with his toe. “So. We’re back to square one,” he stated. 

No one answered him. They didn’t need to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so y'all know, THIS monster of a chapter is the bitch what halted my progress on this story for six months. 
> 
> I could tweak this forever, and maybe I could get it to perfection, but at some point you just have to say "This is supposed to be for fun, and this part works well enough how it is, so I'm choosing to move on from it now."
> 
> Thank you for your patience as I dealt with writer's block, or writer's hibernation, or writer's frustration, whatever. Thank you for coming back, thank you for everything. I ❤️ you all. :)

_ The room was small. _

_ Bright. But only from above. _

_ It was small. Cavernously small. _

_ He knew this place. _

_ He turned, and a man with dark hair walked through the door thick metal door. _

_ “Stop,” his father said. _

_ “Stop what?” he asked. _

_ He blinked, and the man was gone. Then he was behind him, with a group of ten, of twenty— _

_ “Save us,” they said, all fifty of them. _

_ “Save who?” _

_ “Save us,” they said, hundreds of them. _

_ “How?” he asked— _

_ Gunshot through her heart. _

_ “Save us,” they said, “save us!” they cried, all of them, _ _ all _ _ of them, so many he could never— _

_ The wind blew, and he wobbled on the branch he was sitting on. He gripped it tighter, cold metal biting into his palms. _

_"I wanted to help."_

_He turned, and a young man with nearly-blonde hair looked back._

_"I only wanted to help," Jack repeated._

_"You can," he answered, "you will—"_

_"I only wanted to help," said a tall young man with tousled brown hair, "I can be Good, I promise."_

_"I can be Good, I promise, don't leave me here!" cried Jack._

_"I won't! Jack, I won't!"_

_His mother reached out for Jack's hand. Jack took it, and they stood to leave without another word._

_"Wait—!"_

_ “I told you to go,” said Dean. _

_ He turned on his cot and Dean stood over him. So big. He was always so big— _

_ “So why didn’t you stay?” Dean asked. _

Come back,_ he cried, shouting over the wind, but no sound made it out. The witch had taken his voice._

_ “I told you to go," said Dean. _

Please, come back! _ he shouted again. _How am I supposed to do this without you?

_ “Go on! Get outta here!” _

Dean, please, I can be Good, I promise—!

_ He was shoved off the branch as Dean grabbed onto his shirt. He twisted and fell, the wind rushing past, and then he knelt on the ground, looking up at the sky above. _

_ Red. _

_ Red and orange and angry. _

_ Always angry. _

_ Only. _

_ Never— _

_ He was thrown to the ground whose feel he would never forget. He was thrown by no hand he could see to the ground he could feel and there was that heat— heat— all around there was heat— and glass— and knives— knives,_ _always _ _ knives__, cutting and hacking, healing and peeling— _

No! No, help, please—!

_ There was no sound. He screamed and there was no sound. He screamed and he screamed he _ _ ripped _ _ and he _ _ tore__, but there was no one. No one. No one answered, no one knew, no one listened, no one cared and he screamed and he screamed and the knives and the knives twisted deeper and deeper and they cut into him deeper and there was pain and there was love and please, please, someone help him _ _ please__! Dear God, help me, please—! _

“Sam!” _Hands _grabbed at him—

_“__No__!”_ _Sam jerked away, and his _side smashed into the floor, something fell onto his leg— _“Stop, __no__—!”_

“Sam— _ Sam, _ it’s okay—!" 

“No, stop— _ please—!” _ He scrambled away, leg throbbing and heart racing—

“Sam! Darlin’, it’s only me—! _ A chroí!” _

His eyes snapped open. 

Through the haze that cleared, he saw... He saw Bris, standing there, standing just a few feet away, her hands held out toward him, where he was splayed out on the ground. 

Her voice came low, gentle and soft. “Yeah… Yeah, there, it's only me, love, it’s okay,” she soothed. “You’re okay, darlin’, just... jus' breathe fer me, okay?” 

Sam shut his eyes. He _ was _breathing, fast and ragged and— 

_“Whoa now._ Hey, yeh gotta slow down, love.” She stepped around a toppled chair. “Please, Sam, slow down fer me; breathe slow fer me, alright?”

He sucked a breath in and held it, his pulse pounding in his ears. It escaped in a puff and he gasped again, holding it longer— 

_“Hey_ now, no-no-no," Bris said. "Breathe in slow, alright? Breathe in slow for me...”

Moving carefully, so carefully, she knelt down, her hand still reaching out for him. And he grabbed it. He grabbed it and he gripped it tight, holding onto it with _everything_ he had.

*That’s it…* she said so softly. “C’mon now, breathe fer me, in… and out… Yes, love, in… and out… in… and—” 

She cut off with a gasp.

Sam looked up. Bris tried to raise her eyes before Sam could see where she’d been looking— 

But she didn’t move fast enough.

He yanked his hand back from her.

“Sam—”

“Please,” he stopped her. He shook his head, pulling his unbuttoned flannel closed tight over his chest. “P-please. Don’t. Just— I just—”

"Sam..."

He forced his eyes open and looked up at her again. He looked up at her and... and she was… oh, she was in so much pain. He could see it. He could _ see _ it but— but he _ couldn’t_ let her—

*Alright,* she whispered, pulling her hand back. *Alright, love. I won’t. ...I promise.*

Sam breathed out, all at once. He shut his eyes. He breathed in. And he opened his eyes again. 

**(March 28, 2018, 3:00am, seventeen hours after speaking to the Reaper, ten days after Texas)**

Sam was on the floor beside the middle library table, Bris kneeling in front of him. Behind her, the chair he had been sitting in was lying on its side, toppled over, the apparent cause of the pain in his leg. He moved to sit up from where he was sprawled from scrambling back, and felt his hand shift over a loose sheet of paper. He glanced around. His papers were all over the floor. 

Bris leaned forward, drawing Sam's attention. She kept her eyes on his face and nowhere else. 

“Sam, darlin’...” she reached out an open hand into the space between them, “come on to bed. Please. Yeh need sleep, yeh need some rest.”

Sleep... No... No, he couldn’t sleep—

“Yes, now. I mean it.” She leaned closer and gently placed that hand on his cheek, stopping him from shaking his head. “You need to rest—”

“I can’t.” He pulled away from her too-warm palm. “I-I-I can’t. I-I—”

“Darlin’, it’s been more’n a week a' this,” she pleaded. “You’re runnin’ on fumes what blew away days ago. Please, come to bed.”

“No,” he shifted further back, “no, I can’t.”

She leaned forward after him, “Please, love—”

“No, you don't— I can’t.”

“But, Sam—”

"I said I _can't."_

"But— "

_“I can’t!”_

“A’course you ca—”

_ “I can’t hit another dog!” _

Bris pulled sharply back from him. 

“You… what?” she asked.

Sam took a breath through his nose, sharp and stinging. He breathed in, and he held it again, before his words tumbled out in a burst: “I have to find him, okay? I can't let him go again, I can’t abandon him again. I have to find him. I have to find a way to bring him back.”

After a moment of processing this, Bris’s eyes turned impossibly softer. “Sam... Yeh’ve looked _ everywheres. _ Yeh done all yeh _ can _at this point—”

“But I haven’t.”

She blinked, confused, but Sam didn’t explain. 

He just pushed himself up from the floor. Bris stood as well, though she stayed a few steps away. 

“You ain’t abandoned him, Sam.”

"Them."

"What?"

_"Them," _Sam said again. "All of them."

He bent over to pick up his papers, feeling Bris's eyes on him as he returned to the table. He righted his chair but didn't sit in it, instead placing his papers on the tabletop, leaving his hand spread over them as they settled to the surface. 

“I have to find something else,” Sam said, his voice low and ragged as he spoke to the table. "I have to find something. There _has _to be something... I've messed up so much, I’ve fucked up _so much— _I have failed... _so many times_ and then— a-and then— and then I don’t even—! _Fuck!” _He slammed his hand down on the table.

Bris flinched beside him. Sam saw it. And yet she stepped closer toward him, moving so carefully Sam could feel it in the air. 

“You don’t what, love?”

Sam shook his head. He was so tired. He was _so_ tired, and he hurt, and it was all so, so much... 

*And then I don’t even feel bad about it,* he said.

Bris was silent a moment, silent and still. Then,

“What... What on _Earth_ are you talkin’ about?”

Sam huffed, letting his head drop heavy between his shoulders. “I’ve lost him so many times, Bris. Him, and everyone else— I’ve fucked up _ so many times_ that I can't even _count,_ but you— you _looked _at me and you _ saw_ that I wasn’t even _upset_ about—!”

_ “What?” _ Bris burst. “No, you’re— You're nothin’ _ but _ upset! Sam—” she came up next to him now, leaning over the table to try to look him in the eye, “Sam, that _ ain't _ what I seen in you. Honestly, I don’t know _ what _ I seen, but it sure weren’t _ that.” _

Sam scoffed. “Sure.” 

She exhaled sharply through her nose and opened her mouth to speak. But then she stopped, shut her eyes, and took a breath. “Sam, please, if you’d just let me look again—”

“No.” He shook his head sharply. 

“I got a glimpse just now, but if I could just see what’s really goin’ on I could—”

"No, it won’t do any—”

"If I could just make _sense_ of it—”

“I can’t take any more of—”

“But I can _ help _you if I—!”

_ “Well I don’t _ _ want _ _ any more of your _ _ help__!” _

Bris pulled back with a small, awful gasp. 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “Bris. I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, you _did_,” she snapped. 

Sam didn’t know how to respond. 

So he didn’t.

“Oh... Oh, you did,” she said. 

Sam hunched over even lower.

“Oh,” she said, her voice so very, very small. *Oh...*

She took a step back from the table. 

And Sam let her go.

She turned and crossed the library, silently leaving the room.

Sam waited until her footsteps faded before he dropped into his chair. 

Alone once more.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**_ March 27, 2018, 11:30am, one hour after speaking to the Reaper_ **

_ Castiel had crouched on the concrete floor as he rifled through a shelf in the storage room. Glass jars knocked against each other and boxes nearly tumbled to the floor as trinkets and talismans of missions long past were roughly shoved this way and that. _

_ A metal bowl sat beside him, holding a large, brown-red fruit and a vial of blood. Condensation ran down their sides, still cold from the refrigerator he’d retrieved them from. _

_ He threw a box back onto its shelf, the lid only half-on, and he stood, returning the items back to where they'd been with a wave of his hand. He moved on to the next section, reached for another pile. _

_The smashed remains of some shattered item had crunched beneath his shoe. He gave it no heed. _

_ He had searched and he’d searched, even though what he wanted shouldn’t have even _ _ been_ _ in this aisle. It _ _ should_ _ have been two rows over, with the other magic necklaces, but it would seem that the organizational system he had implemented on these shelves when he’d cleaned them an age ago hadn’t been adhered to. _

_ He wasn't surprised. _

_ He failed to control a low growl of frustration, and again waved a hand at the items, shunting them back into place. He turned away too quickly, missing the cracks he left in the jars in his wake. _

_ Snatching up the bowl from the floor, Castiel had stormed back out into the hall, his coat billowing around him as he returned to the upper levels of the bunker, sheer momentum and fury fueling him all the way into the library. _

_ “Where is the Seal?” he demanded upon arrival. _

_ Sam had jumped in his seat, spinning to blink up at Castiel as he strode over to him. _

_ “Ah— What?” he stumbled. “I don't— I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t seen Direl since—” _

_ “The Seal of _ _ Solomon__,” Castiel snapped. “It isn’t in the storeroom, where is it?” _

_ Sam had blinked at him again, "It's— Wait, why?" He glanced down at Castiel’s hands. "Why do you have a spellbowl? And the Fruit— Wait, what are you doing?" _

_ "Remedying my mistake. Where is the Seal?" _

_ "You’re what? No- hold on, Cas, hold on—" _

_ "I will not 'hold on!' It has been over a week now, and I can't—" _

_ "No, I didn't mean—" _

_ "Where is the _ _ Seal!__" _

_ "Why the hell do you need it!" Sam had shouted in return, his voice rising to meet Castiel’s even as his face betrayed wariness. "We can't even _ _ do_ _ that spell, we don't have the archangel's grace—!" _

_ "My next stop is Heaven." _

_ Sam's brow had knitted. He'd looked over Castiel with a frown. _

_ Then comprehension had dawned, apprehensive and grave. _

_ "That isn't an option, Cas." _

_ "We are _ _ out_ _ of other options—” _

_ "There's going to be something else. There's going to be something we haven’t—" _

_ "We have the ingredients for _ _ this_ _ spell _ _ now!__" Castiel thrust the spellbowl at Sam. "I can do this _ _ now__, the last ingredient is _ _ right there__! So give me the Seal, and I’ll go collect the grace and—" _

_ "You think you’re just going to—? _ _ No__, Cas—” _

_ “I’m not asking for your—” _

_ “No! You— You think you’re going to just walk right in there, take what’s probably— probably the last pillar holding up Heaven—" _

_ "There are others to—" _

_ "Seven! That angel said there were only _ _ seven _ _ angels up there! We can't take that kind of risk!" _

_ Castiel narrowed his eyes, glowering down at Sam. "You were willing to take us to any lengths when it was the Mark of Cain.” _

_ "That... You know that was different, Cas." _

_ "Why? Because now it's Lucifer?" _

_ Sam visibly flinched. _

_ In the pause, Castiel had stepped back, his face tight with a grimace. _

_ "Fine," he’d said. He met Sam’s eye directly. "Then I'll get it from Gabriel." _

_ The previous strange look on Sam’s face was eclipsed by confusion. "But... But Gabriel won't—" _

_ "I'm aware." _

_ Sam drew back from him again, his wide, horrified eyes darting up to Castiel’s. _

_ "No," he said with finality. _

_ "Sam—" _

_ " _ _ No__, Cas! We are not going to—!" _

_ “Not we, _ _ I _ _ will—” _

_ “No! You won’t!” _

_ "Why not! Did he not stop us when Dean needed us most? Why shouldn't I take what I need to—!" _

_ "Cas!" Sam barked, shooting to his feet. "What the hell—! Do you even _ _ hear_ _ yourself right now?" _

_ "Of course I do! Do you hear me, Sam?” _

_ Sam had paused, his eyes only growing harder as he looked at Castiel. "So you would really—" _

_ "Yes! That, and anything else I have to do!" _

_ "Anything including _ _ forcing__ Gabriel to__—" _

_ "__Anything__! I _ _ have _ _ to fix this! I have to—! If I can’t—! It has been _ _ days__, Sam!” _

_ “We’re going to find something—” _

_ “I can’t just _ _ wait_ _anymore and hope that ‘something’ will appear! _ _ Waiting_ _ is what caused this! _ _ Waiting_ _ is what lost him! Maybe _ _ you_ _ can treat this like any other case, _ _ but I can't!__" _

_ Sam recoiled from Castiel. Something shifted deep behind his eyes, something awful, something pained. _

_ Castiel had barely even noticed it. _

_ Sam blinked it away a moment later, dropping his gaze to the floor. _

_ "Cas…” he had said, his voice coming softer than before, “after what happened with Donatello… you really think Dean would be okay with that?" _

_ "He doesn't have to be," Castiel had said, squaring his shoulders at Sam. _

_ Sam had looked up sharply at that, his whole demeanor changing yet again, first in shock, then through sadness, until it reached something terribly darker, something outraged, something furious. _

_ Sam moved to mirror Castiel, drawing himself up to his full, towering height: _

_"Well __I'm_ _not__."   
_

_One simple statement. All it had taken was that one statement, Castiel was finally stopped cold. The weight of Sam’s voice, the sheer disappointment rolling off him in waves, Castiel had _ _ slammed__ into all of it like a solid brick wall. _

_ He pulled back from Sam, his motions stunted and jerking, and he finally noticed— finally seen the red of Sam’s sunken, bloodshot eyes, finally seen the heavy, dark circles beneath them. He’d finally recognized the slant in his shoulders, perpetually tightened, the state of his clothes, unchanged for days. His face was unshaved, his hair was unwashed— _

_ “I’m sorry—” Castiel had begun. But hadn’t known where to end. _

_ And Sam had looked him up and down with those disapproving eyes, _ _ holding _ _ him there in his shame. _

_Then he’d sighed, and he’d turned away, and he’d sat, wearily, back in his chair. _

_ "There's going to be something else," Sam had repeated, steadfast as he pulled his book a little closer. "There's going to be something else that we missed." _

_ “I… Yes…” Castiel had said. The glass vial rattled against the side of the bowl as he stepped back. "Yes, of— Yes, of course." _

_Then he’d turned from the table and crossed the library. Sam didn't look up from his book as he went. He’d hurriedly entered the kitchen and returned the Fruit and the Blood to the fridge. Then he’d passed Sam once more to return the spell bowl to its library shelf. Then he’d turned for the hallway, and then... he’d left. _

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


Castiel now wandered the bunker.

Quiet. Empty.

Indistinguishable from any other day. 

He heard nothing by which he normally discerned the time: no opening and closing of doors, no clattering of pots and pans, no shuffling of sock-clad feet. He heard no armchairs creaking, no movies playing, no laundry spinning. He heard no laughter bouncing down the halls, no bickering jabbing from room to room, no sighs, even and slow, of humans peacefully asleep.

Instead he heard only the turning of pages. Heard only the soft tap of shoes. Heard only the curtailed rasp of choppy, uneven breath.

And yet, even without his normal cues, Castiel knew _ exactly _what time it was. 

It was **March 28th, 2:46 am**. Sixteen hours and twenty-six minutes after speaking to the Reaper.

Seven days, six hours, and twelve minutes since the rift had closed. 

Nine days, eighteen hours, and thirty-nine minutes since Michael took Dean.

Ten days, four hours, and fifty-two minutes since Castiel had made the worst mistake of his existence. 

He walked the halls of the bunker, passing by door after door, room after room. 

He knew them all completely, the rooms that is. He'd explored them all years ago, on nights when Castiel was awake as others slept soundly; peaceful nights, when his protections were unneeded. Those had been nights when he had eagerly awaited the dawn. Those had been nights when he eagerly awaited the day to begin, eagerly awaited the approach of well-rested yawns in the kitchen, eagerly awaited the grunted greetings of morning-rough voices, eagerly awaited gentle smiles over coffee in mugs. 

Now his nights were spent hoping the morning wouldn’t come. 

That he wouldn't have to face another day lost to failure.

Castiel walked. And he walked. 

And he felt the hum of the bunker, felt the ever-present buzzing of spells, of curses, of wardings. He walked, and he felt the background noise of this place, a feeling that had grown to be a true comfort over these recent years, a feeling he missed whenever he was away, a feeling he craved whenever he was alone. 

Although lately... if Castiel didn’t know better, he might say it was... slowed. 

The lights didn’t seem to burn quite as bright. The rooms hardly ever moved around. The creaks and the groans seemed softer somehow, subdued. 

Of course… that was probably just Castiel. 

That was probably just him, seeing things that weren’t there, or missing things that were, or even reading the whole of it entirely wrong. 

Certainly wouldn’t be anything new.

He walked. 

And he walked. 

Because, really, what else could he do? 

What knowledge he had was unneeded. What solace he could give was corrupt. What grace he had left was slim and frail. 

He didn’t even have proper wings. 

Dean had said that he was more than his use.

But how could he be more when he was already nothing.

The leather jacket rustled in his arms as he held it tight to his chest.

What would Dean say now? What would he say if he were here? What would he say if he could see Castiel, if he knew… if he knew what Castiel had been willing to do?

_ You’re a freakin’ child, you know that? _

Castiel winced at that old echo of Dean’s voice, clutching the jacket even tighter. 

*What would you have me do?* he asked the bundle of leather.

_ Listen, if— When. _ _ When _ _ this works. Sam... he's gonna be a mess. So look out for him, okay? _

Castiel shut his eyes. Against yet another failure.

He walked.

And he walked.

And he thought.

Because... what would they do now? 

Would they wait, and search, working endlessly until _ something _appeared? How long would they wait? Weeks? Months?

Years? 

How long would Dean hold out? Because surely he was fighting this, even now. Dean would never stop fighting, of course not.

...But how long could he last?

How long could _ Michael _last?

How long would Michael wait. 

How long would Michael toy with Dean, how long would he draw out his struggle? 

Or... 

_ Dean Winchester Ended when he fulfilled his Role. _

...would Michael even wait at all? 

What if Michael grew impatient, unwilling to tolerate an unruly soul in his Vessel?

No. Dean would hold out. Dean would survive. He would. He was _Dean._

...But what if he couldn’t? 

What if Michael was too strong? 

What if, when they finally made it to Dean... 

What if there was nothing left to save at all.

What if Dean was— 

What if he— 

Dear God, they didn’t even have his _ body— _

Castiel stopped short, nearly running head-long into the green tiled wall. 

He blinked at it, not understanding why he’d turned from his current path in the first place, until he looked around, and realized that he was back at the front of the main hall. 

The front of the main hall...

Where the first door should be. 

*No,* he murmured, his hand rising to hover before the empty, blank tile. *No, _ no... _*

He looked left, and he looked right, but the door wasn’t there. _Dean's _door— wasn't there.

No… No, _ no, _ it had to be here, it _ had _ to be. This was all he had left, this was all that he had. This and the jacket, _ this was all that he had— _

“Where is it?” he said, hurrying back down the hall, checking every door that he passed. “Where is it, please, where is it!”

He broke into a run, rushing down every twist of the endless, branching halls. He was sure to get lost, turn after turn... But it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter, not as long as he found it. And he _would_ find it, he had to find it, because if he didn’t— if he couldn’t— that would mean— that Dean was really— 

“Please, where is it! Where did it go!” 

He ran down another hall.

Then another,

And another,

And _another_—

_“Please!” _

He nearly collapsed to his knees, upright only by bracing his hand against the cold, tiled wall. “Please, _ please... _Where did you put it?” he barely choked out. “Please, I need— I need it back. I have to— I _ need— _ I need it back.”

He had to find it. He _ had _to find it because if he didn’t— if it was really— if Dean was really— 

“I can’t—!” he cried. “Please, bring it back! Please, I can’t— It can’t— No, please, _ please_, I can’t— I need— 

_ “Please…” _

He pushed himself up, stepping away from the wall. He had to find it. He’d check all of these doors, over and over, again and again if he had to, the entire bunker, top to bottom, every hall, every floor, because it couldn’t.... it couldn't... God, please, it _ couldn’t _ be g—

Castiel stopped.

There it was. 

Right next to him now, and it hadn’t been there before.

He shifted the jacket in his arms. Slowly, carefully, he lifted one hand and placed his open palm against the old brown door, feeling its smoothed texture, feeling its warmth, feeling its own unique hum, so perfectly familiar to him.

His head fell forward with the weight of relief.

He reached out with his other arm, and brushed the back of his hand against the cool, smooth tile.

_ *Thank you,* _ he said, barely more than a whisper.

There was a click, and then motion. The door to Dean’s room swung open of its own accord, and Castiel heard the bunker’s answer in the soft squeak of usually-silent hinges.

He entered the room, blessedly unchanged despite having been vanished. Everything was just as it had been. The sheets were still pushed to one side, duffel still tossed, haphazardly packed, on one corner of the bed. The shelves were still full, the sidetable still empty, the prized stereo system still idle on the table against the wall. The simple wooden chair was still sitting in its corner, the closet was still impeccably orderly, and of course the desk on one wall was still as meticulously tidy as it ever had— 

Castiel tipped his head to the side.

He approached the desk slowly. Cautious fingers reached out, gently touching, then grasping an item on the desk. Castiel lifted it up, like a delicate baby bird, and he brought it in close, cupping it gently in both of his hands.

Dean’s little gray speaker.

...Which definitely hadn’t been there before. 

He turned it over in his hands, still so careful and slow, and soon ascertained that, indeed, it was real. He looked around the room, glancing up at the muted green walls. 

“Do I have you to thank for this?” he quietly asked.

The bunker did not respond. 

Castiel backed away from the desk, easily finding his way to the chair in the corner. He sat, sinking down onto the curved wooden seat, it’s shape a comfort well-known. Something like habit drew his eye to the empty, disheveled bed, and then he brought his gaze back, to the small device held in his hands.

His fingers tightened minutely around it. 

*I miss him,* he said.

The first time he’d allowed himself to say it out loud. 

“I miss him and... and I...”

He heard a creak somewhere out in the bunker, a creak that sounded far too much like a sigh.

A terrible pain twisted in Castiel’s chest, and he gripped the speaker tighter. 

“Why?” he asked softly.

Still, nobody answered.

Why this 

Why now 

Why _ him _

Castiel knew that he himself had done wrong, had done so very much wrong in all of his existence. 

But _ Dean… _

Castiel had accepted his Fall. He had removed himself fully from the service of Heaven, had left the Host to join the humans on Earth. He had done that. He had _chosen_ that.

Dean hadn't.

Nothing in Father’s Creation was fair, it never had been.

But it had always made sense. 

Castiel disobeyed, and he was Punished. He acted out, and he was Punished. At first at the hands of Naomi, and then more directly by Father’s own Will. Over the past ten years he had periodically disregarded this, or foolishly thought he was free of it, but he Knew now that _ this _was the ebb and flow of his existence, forever and without escape. 

But _ Dean _ held no part in that. Dean shouldn’t have been involved in this cycle at all. Dean was _human_, not just human but the _ Righteous Man, _ tasked with saving Creation from the dangers brought about by Angels, by Demons, by Darkness…

And Castiel had been meant to help him. Castiel had been meant to _protect_ him. 

And he had failed. 

He had done nothing _ but _fail, over and over and _over_ again. When he wanted to help, he did nothing but harm. When he thought he was right, he was horribly wrong. 

Castiel tried, over and _over_ he _tried,_ but everything he touched turned to ruin.

He placed a palm over his chest, pressing it against his body—no. His vessel. He felt the clothing under his palm. He felt the skin behind the fabric. He felt the muscle and bone that rested beneath. He felt his heart beneath that, he felt it tighten, felt it twist and tear with that solid, sinking, searing pain.

He didn't feel the shift of lungs drawing air.

That he’d thought for even a second that he could simply tell Dean— That he'd thought for even a _second_ that he could simply _have _Dean— Of course this had been the result. Castiel was a curse, he was a plague... 

...he was an _ angel. _

“Why...?” Castiel asked again. Then, “Why would You Make us this way?”

Castiel sat up straighter, the speaker in his hands drawing nearer in his lap.

“What is an Angel but a Being of destruction? What are we but vectors for harm? Why would You Create us as we are, as such _terrors_ unto the World? Terrors who bring nothing but Pain upon Earth?

“You Asked us, so soon after the Start, You Asked us to Care for the Humans. You Asked us to Care for them, to Help them and Protect them... But then You left. You left us to our own devices and this was the result. Humanity tortured for millennia, the Apocalypse initiated before You intended, angels dying, scores at a time...

“Seven angels left in Heaven… 

“Perhaps they are receiving their Punishment as well.”

Castiel shook his head.

“I thought for so long— I was _ told _for so long that the Angels only obeyed Your Will, that our actions _were_ Your Will, but they weren’t, they were Heaven’s, bloody and awful and cruel. So why... why would You Allow us to do such terrible things? Why Create us this way if we weren’t meant to Act in such a manner, why Give us the Will to do as we wished? If we were meant to follow only Your Will, why give us a Choice at all? 

“And then, knowing how You Made us, knowing what horror we were capable of, how could You Ask us to Protect Humanity and Creation? To watch over them? To _Care_ for them? Things as awful as us, You _Made_ us, Made us _for _ this, Made us only for _ this! _You told us to Protect them, and to Adore them, even more than you!”

Castiel dropped his head.

“And then You Told us that we must stay away.”

_ You know why we’re meant to stay away from the Humans? _Ishim had said.

_ It's not because we're a danger to them. _

_ They're a danger to us. _

The pain in Castiel’s chest began to push, to push out and up and to rise, sharp and scratching and slicing, up into his throat. 

He let it.

“_Why _ is it so dangerous?” he asked. “Why is it so terrible? Humanity is so wonderful, so beautiful, so Good! Why would You _ Create _ us to _ serve _them and then make us so weak and corruptible that we must stay away! 

“You Told us to Fight for them, to Defend them and Honor them, to give all that we had for them—! Why should we only know what it is to tear, and shatter, and burn for You? Why should we only know what it is to Watch, and Know, and Wait for You? Why shouldn’t we know the embrace of their friendship, or the taste of their food, or the outpouring of their music? Why should we only know Joy but not happiness? Why should we only know Song but not singing? Why should we only know Harmony but not belonging, Care but not caring, Love but not—!” 

Castiel stopped, his throat too tight to continue. 

_...what you're talking about,_ Gabriel had said months ago, _geez, it sounds more like human love_ _than anything. ...it's a messy thing. Glad we don't have to deal with it._

Castiel relaxed his hand, unclenching it from against his thigh.

“Why would You Make the Angels the way that you did…” Castiel asked softly, “...and then Make me different?"

He lifted his hand and returned it to join the other on the speaker. His thumb rubbed over the mesh, the woven cover of it rough to the touch.

“If Angels were not meant to love, why even Make me able to feel it? If Angels were not meant to love, why Let me know it at all? If Angels were not meant to love, _why _ would You Allow me to _ find _it?

“Why even Make me _ able _to love... if I wasn’t supposed to?

“Why Make me able to love…”

He moved his hand from the speaker to the worn leather in his lap.

“...if I wasn’t supposed to love him?

“You Asked me to Raise him, and I did. You Asked me to Rebuild him, and I did. You Asked me to Help him, over and over, and I did, _ I did. _ Did You really think in all of that, that I wouldn’t come to Know him? Did You really think that if I Knew him I wouldn’t come to care for him? You must have Known that if I did... You _ must _have Known that I would love him.

“So why allow me to feel this way, if it’s so wrong of a thing? Why allow me to know it, if to do so is sin? Why even allow me to _ find _ this sweetest damnation—!

"...only to take him away.” 

Castiel shut his eyes, tried to swallow around the new lump in his throat.

*I suppose You Know us best,* he said quietly. *I suppose You would Know what would hurt us the most.*

He looked down at the speaker in his hands. 

“But why him?” he asked again. “What did Dean do? Your Creation isn’t fair but it’s always made sense. This World is Yours, and it follows a Plan. To alter or deviate from the Plan is to sin, and to sin begets Punishment, I understand this now, I do. And You’ve Punished me, yes, but You’ve Punished Dean, too…

“But what did he do?

“He fought for Your World, and got _ this _in return. He did all that You Asked, and You gave him such pain. Before… how many times did he die, how many times was he brought to his Heaven, how many times should his life have been over, only for You to Allow the Angels to send him back? Over and over he was sent back to Earth, to try again, to do it over, to make it to Your End— or what we had all been told was the End. And after we found out it wasn’t, how many times was he teetering, hovering so close to the edge of Oblivion, only for you to allow us to bring him back from the brink? How many times has Dean skirted true death, only to be Allowed, _Directed_ even, to return once again? 

“So what happened between then and now that _ this _would be how— What happened this time that we aren’t able to— Where did he fail that this time I can’t—

“That this time I can’t—

“He did all that You Asked! You Told him that _ he _ was the force meant to Protect Your Creation, the Firewall between the light and the darkness, and he did just as You Asked! Even when I tried to stop him, even when _ Sam _ tried to stop him from fulfilling Your Will, You must Know that he still, he _still, _ did as You Asked! He _ said _ yes to Michael, he _ saved _ your Creation, so why… _ why… _

“You said it was him and Sam. You said it was _ them_, meant to steward the safety of this World. But You must have Known— You _ must _ have Known that Dean was always going to take the burden on his own, You _ must _ have Known that he will _ always _take the whole of the responsibility upon himself, no matter whether he could actually bear it, that he would try, try so hard that he’d— that he would—”

Castiel shut his eyes. 

*All Dean wanted was us,* he whispered.

“All Dean wanted was us and You… You… 

“Where did he fail? What did he do? The Angels started the Apocalypse, and he stopped it; Hell and Worse came to tear the World apart, and he stopped them; all manner of Spirit and Monster threatened the people of Your World and _he_ stopped them all! So where did he go wrong! What did he do! He fought everything You ever threw at him, _ everything _ before and after You gave him this Duty! Even when it was too much for one man, even when it came at a terrible cost, he did _everything_ he could! You Let me bring Sam back when he fulfilled his Role, why not Dean! _ Why not Dean! _ Where did he go wrong! _ What did he do!” _

Castiel opened his eyes again, staring at the objects clutched tight in his hands.

“Is all of this really a Punishment on me? Did all of this happen because of my Wrongs? Did all of this happen because I forsake Heaven? Because I caused the Great Fall? Because I released the Leviathan? Because I killed Raphael? _ I _ have done nothing but sin and rebel, _ I _ have done nothing but run from Your Word! My sins against his, why take him, why not me! All he wanted was us! All Dean wanted was _ us! _ _All he wanted was_ _ us and You  took him away!” _

A tiny sound pattered on the jacket. Droplets of water hitting the leather. They beaded and fell, slowly rolling deep into the creases. 

*If I had stayed…* Castiel barely intoned. *If I had stayed so that Michael could make good on his word… If I had stayed to atone…*

He dropped his head to his hand. The other, holding the speaker, fell limp between his knees. 

*I should have stayed… I should have— Dear God, I should have stayed…*

_ Kill him, Castiel! _rang Naomi’s voice through his mind.

Castiel scoffed, wet and choked. If only she had known. There had been no need to control Castiel to achieve her goal.

_ I won’t hurt Dean! _he had shouted back.

What a liar he had been.

All she’d needed to do was let Castiel loose and he would do the job himself. Though his own _ willful ignorance, _ he would bring Dean’s doom all on his own. All she had to do was let Castiel do what Castiel always did, and soon enough Dean would be— soon enough Dean would be— 

...Dean would be gone.

“No. No he can’t be, he _ can’t _ be!” Castiel cried, something like nausea wrenching through him. “It doesn’t make sense! It doesn’t make any _ sense! _ To send him through the portal, to make it so we can’t reach him— He did everything You Asked! He did everything You Wanted! I read all Your damned books, he _ followed _ the Plan! He _ Saved _ Your Creation! The _ only _ thing I ever did _right _was listen when he asked me to fight by his side to _ Save Your Creatio—!” _

Castiel froze.

He nearly dropped the speaker.

Father’s Creation wasn’t fair. It never had been.

But it always made sense. 

One only had to find the right Scale.

“Unless…” Castiel murmured, “that _ wasn’t _the right thing to do. 

“Unless... that... _ wasn’t _what You Wanted.

“Unless initiating the Apocalypse _ wasn’t _just the work of Willful angels.

“Did You—

“Is that why—”

Castiel stared out at nothing, his hands clenching and his eyes darting as the pieces finally, _ finally _fell together. 

“When we ‘tore up Your pages’ ten years ago, when we staved off the End, was _ that _ what angered You so? Did we make a mistake? Did you want it all along? Were the Angels right, and you _ wanted _ the Apocalypse? Were they following Your Will all along, and _we _defied Your Will, and _ this... _is our Retribution?

“Was _ all _of it Retribution...?

“Was... all of it…?

“..._Damn _ you.

“Damn _ you... _ and your _ Will, _ and your _ Plan, _ and your—! How did I not see it before? The endless cycle of catastrophe after catastrophe, building and building aimlessly until now—! If Dean’s Cause didn’t have your Favor why Allow him to succeed! If you _ wanted _ the World to End why Allow it to be Saved! You jealous, _ spiteful— _

“You Knew all along. You allowed us to suffer and toil, Protecting this ‘Saved Creation’ from all manner of ‘danger’ in _ Punishment _ for daring to go against you! The Angels _ did _fail you, but we did too, so you threw us crisis after crisis, lining everything up so you could finally— So you could—"

Castiel shook his head. “All of this time, I was trying to be your good son. I tried and I tried to follow your Word, to do as you had Asked at the Start— I _ tried_. Over and _ over _ as we spiraled toward chaos I _ continued _ to _ try _ and I asked you, I _ begged _ you, _ time _ _ and _ _ again _ for _ Direction_, for _ Correction_, and all of this time—? 

“You told me to Love them so I did! You told me to Save them so I did! You told me to fight with all that I had for your Creation so _ I did! _ I fought for it all alongside your Champion, I fought for this World with _ your _ Righteous Man! We _ fought _ for the Free Will that _ you _ always praised, and _you Allowed us to succeed!_ We fought and we sacrificed and we _ died _ for this World and you gave us _ Punishment? _ You gave _ Dean _Punishment?

“If this is what following you gets us— if trying to fulfill your unknowable,_ impossible, __asinine_ Will is Rewarded with _this— _with torment and pain unimaginable—! Well then you can take your ‘most sacred Oath’, and you can take your ‘decree of Free Will’, and you can— _and you can— _you can _shove it up your ass,_ old man! You can take your whole damned Creation, you can take this whole wretched World, you can take all of this _bullshit _and you can _bite me__, _because I am _done!_

“I’m _ done.” _

Castiel stood from the chair, the speaker gripped in one hand and the jacket in the other, and he stormed for the door. 

Sam wouldn’t like it if he partook in their store of alcohol, but there was a shop in town he was plenty capable of reaching on his own. And when he finished there, there was a bar just a block beyond that, and another bar a town over from that, and another, and another... He shifted the jacket to one arm and reached out, blithely wondering just how many little businesses he would end up having to find, how many he would need in order to drown himself well and completely into a deep, willing Oblivion for the next— 

“Castiel.”

He jerked back from the doorhandle, heart seizing in his chest. Castiel spun around, whirling to face that awfully, woefully, terrifyingly known voice.

Because behind him now, on the far side of the room, in the familiar visage of a short, scruffy white man currently wearing jeans, sneakers, and a dark-green knit sweater, was…

*Father.* 

——— 

Gabriel stood at the entrance to the storeroom.

He knew exactly what was in there, knew exactly what he would find. He could hear it, clear as a bell.

He just didn’t know what to do.

He stared at the door, debating himself in circles. To help or not? Was he meant to, or shouldn’t he? Would it only bring more pain if he even tried to—

A small, choked sob reached his ears. 

_...vatnisse..._

Gabriel drew a deep breath into his vessel, and opened the door. 

She was in a back corner, sitting on the floor, curled up tightly with her knees to her chest and her back against one of the metal shelves. She wasn’t wearing what Gabriel expected for the middle of the night, her normal day-clothes, a tank top and jeans, not pajamas. And her hair, which up until now Gabriel had been mostly convinced was kept immaculately smooth in its tight waves by some sort of...selkie magic or other, was now a mess of tangles and frizz, twice its normal size, rough and choppy where it usually flowed. Gabriel approached her steadily, careful to allow his footsteps to announce him, and stopped a few feet away. 

Bris glanced up at him, a moment of hope flashing in her eyes, but then a resigned disappointment set in, and she dropped her gaze back to the floor. Gabriel didn't fault her for it. 

He took a small step forward. “Hey, princess—”

“Fukoff,” she snapped.

Gabriel flinched back as if bitten.

“No— wait— M’sorry.” She hugged her knees tighter. “Please... don’ go, I... Don’ go.”

Gabriel hesitated, but eventually he stepped closer, sitting on the floor across the aisle from her. He settled down against an upright support, ending up next to— but absolutely _ not _ touching— a pile of _ bean-nighe _cloaks on the shelf beside him. 

There was a half-empty handle of whiskey next to Bris. Seeing this, Gabriel reached up behind his head, and grabbed two relatively uncursed cups from the shelf behind him. He then leaned forward to pick up the bottle, ignoring Bris’s short, aborted protest, and with the experience of millennia, he doled out the goods.

“So. What happened with Sam?” he asked as he poured.

She looked up at him sharply, brow creased and her glassy eyes narrowed with venom.

“Well what else would have you this upset?” Gabriel responded. He offered her one of the cups. 

She glanced at it. Then up at him. Then gingerly reached out a shaky hand to accept it.

“Besides,” Gabriel went on, “I can _ see _ that your bond with him is strained, and _ you _are nursing a heck of a wound there. Not exactly a difficult deduction.”

Bris paused as she was leaning back into her shelf, blinking owlishly before frowning down at her own chest. “...Huh.” 

Gabriel brought his cup to his lips and took a sip. “So…” he prompted again, “what happened that’s got your soul darker than a cup of coffee in Asmara?”

But Bris just continued to frown. She raised her free hand, placing it slowly over her heart, and looked up at Gabriel. “Gotta say... 's right unsettlin’ bein' on this side’uv’it.” 

Gabriel just shrugged and took another sip, waiting.

She breathed in through her nose, slow and deep, letting her eyes fall shut. Then she nodded, stretched her legs out in front of herself, and lifted her own cup to take a sip from her drink. She pulled a face at it, and swirled the translucent liquid in her hand as she swallowed it down. 

“‘E’s pushin’ me away,” she finally said.

Gabriel hummed in response. 

“’E’s wallin’ me off, ‘e’s wallin’ everythin’ off.” She shook her head, staring down at her lap. “I didn' understands it before, but… I think tha's what 'm seein'. What it looked like. Maybe.”

Gabriel had to fight not to frown. 

“But I can’t do nothin’ abouts it,” Bris continued. “I means, I could! Lord knows I could, but— but ‘e don’ _ want _ me to do nothin’ abouts it, don' want help at all. Don’t want... _ me... _to help 'im at all…!”

Gabriel nodded as her sentence trailed off, tipping his own cup from side to side. “Well,” he said after a bit, “you _ did _ shack up with the guy without making an honest man of him first.”

She jerked back at that, her cup sloshing a few drops over her hand and landing on the floor. 

“Well that’s what’s eating you, right?” Gabriel said, meeting her vicious stink-eye with a soft, open look. “You think you messed this up because you didn’t do it the ‘right’ way, because you didn’t follow the Rules—” He took another sip from his glass. “—right?”

Her glare only deepened, one side of her face twitching with a scowl. 

And then she let it fall, all of it, her body drooping with her sigh, and she looked back down at the floor. 

*The rules ‘r crap,* she grumbled.

“Yeah, I know. We already hashed that out, remember?” 

She sighed again and brought her cup up to grasp it in both hands.

“I thought— See, Inas said—" She huffed. “I thought comin’ here, to this here bunker— thought it were gonna be a good thing. Thought it’d be _ good _t' stay. Fer ‘im. Fer me.”

“But now you don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong.” Gabriel looked at her over his cup. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

She sat up all at once and looked him right in the eyes, hope shining bright in her features. "So whaddo I do?" she asked hurriedly.

But Gabriel could only shake his head. “Hell if I know. Tell me if you figure it out.”

Bris slumped again, dropping her glare back into her cup. 

The silence stretched between them, filled only with the constant, quiet hum of the bunker. 

*...Am I gonna lose ‘im?*

Gabriel looked up from his drink.

Bris was still staring at the floor. “Maybe ‘s bad. Maybe it _ is _ wrong. But alls I knows fer sure is that I can’t—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “—that I don’ _wanna_ lose ‘im.” 

She swiped at her cheeks, too slow for Gabriel not to see her tears. 

“Call me weak, call me a selfish creature," she said, "but I… I don' wanna lose 'im.”

Something knotted and tangled in Gabriel, pulling at him slowly with a painful ache. 

He downed the rest of his glass. 

Keeping hold of the cup, he shifted himself over to the other side of the aisle and wrapped an arm around Bris, letting her lean on him and sniffle into his shoulder. His legs ended up outstretched next to hers; she was wearing her boots— though they weren’t laced up— and they stuck out just a bit further than his shoes.

He looked down at her, all red-rimmed eyes and puffy nose and choppy breathing, and he took a breath into his vessel specifically so he could sigh. 

“Keep trying,” he said.

She looked up at him, and he gave her a small, weary smile. 

“I’ve seen a _ lot _ of humans go through a _ lot _of shit, in my time” he said. “Terrible shit. Painful shit. And it ain’t easy, but I’ve also seen them get through it. This is bad right now, it is, no doubt, but… well... just don’t give up yet, okay?”

She wiped at her eyes again, her brow furrowing at him. “How’d’ye know... How d’ye know _ we’re _gonna get throughs it?”

“I don’t,” he answered simply. “But just… give it just a little bit longer. Don’t give up quite yet.”

Her gaze stayed locked on him, staring intently, as if trying to figure out anything and everything about him at once.

She must have found something to satisfy her, because after this she nodded, and settled her head back on his shoulder again. She lifted her cup to her lips, sipped, and grimaced again.

"_Ergh— _ Lord above, I _ gots’ta _ get me somethin’ better t’drink."

Gabriel snorted, nudging into her as he grinned, “Yeah, not gonna argue with that.”

  
  


———  
  
  


“Hey, Castiel,” said Chuck. “We should probably talk.”

Castiel stared mutely at the place where Chuck had just appeared, now standing in the far corner of Dean’s otherwise empty bedroom. 

He recovered quickly, though.

Castiel turned fully from the door, his whole stance hardening and his face going dark with a _ withering _glare.

“I said my piece,” he spat. “So _ talk.” _

Chuck recoiled from him with a visible wince. _ “Ah-" _he fumbled. "Right."

Chuck stood a little straighter and tried for an eager smile. With a gesture of his hand and two chairs appeared. “You wanna sit?”

“No.” 

_ “O_-kay.”

Chuck clapped his hands together and the chairs disappeared.

“Right. Well.” He huffed out a gust of air. “Well, _ goodness, _ Castiel, where do I even start?”

“How could you let Dean be—!”

_“No-no-no, _wait. Wait.” Chuck held up a hand. “Not there. That part comes later.”

Castiel’s stern expression flickered. “...‘Later’?”

“Yeah. I mean, I already know where this whole conversation goes, so…” He trailed off, confronted by Castiel’s squint. “Look, it’s complicated, okay? Omniscience, omnipresence, it’s all really hard to explain, so just trust Me on—”

“I am _ done _ trusting y—”

_ “Right! _ Right.” Chuck raised both palms now. “Yeah, that— that tends to happen, going through this kind of thing.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “‘This kind of thing’.”

“Well, yeah,” Chuck shrugged. “I mean, I get these _ ‘how could you let this happen’ _ prayers _ all _the time. Really annoying, actually. I tend to just turn them off.”

“You—" Castiel blinked, halted in his verbal tracks. "You just— ‘turn them off’.”

“Yeah,” Chuck nodded.

“You… don’t answer them.”

“Nah.”

Castiel could only stare at him for a moment. 

Then his squint deepened further.

“But you’re answering mine.”

_ “Mm-hm.” _

“When you’ve _ never _answered me before.” 

"Yep."

“So… why are you answering now?”

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but paused in the motion. 

Then his face softened with a smile that even Castiel could tell was just a little too wide. _ “Well,” _ Chuck said, “you _ see, _ Castiel, you and I... it seems we’ve had a _ terrible _misunderstanding.”

“A... ‘misunderstanding’.”

“Yes, a little... _ miscommunication _.”

“‘Miscommunication’.”

“Uh-huh.”

"I'm fairly sure _ mis_communication is only possible with some form of _ prior _communication."

Chuck’s eyes narrowed sharply.

Castiel stood his ground.

“Yes. Well.” Chuck continued on. “See, Castiel... you seem to be... _ confused _about what’s going on around here.”

“‘Confused’.”

“Yes, there’s... See, there’s _ layers _to all this that you just can’t see.”

“‘Layers’—”

“Okay the repeating thing is getting a little tired, could we not?”

Castiel shut his mouth.

“Okay. _So.” _ Chuck rearranged his stance. “So— See— _Ugh,_ how do I start this? See, Castiel... the thing is… Okay.” He threw out his hands, “See, the thing is:_ Angels_... are _ hard _.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I know you’re still _ thinking _it, so—” He shut his eyes and huffed. “Just work with Me here, okay?”

Castiel gave no reaction and waited. 

“Thank you. So you see— Castiel— the thing is— I created the Angels… a _ long _ time ago. _ Way _back in the Beginning. And at the time, I thought I had a handle on you. You were supposed to be simple. Easy. Straightforward. You were My arbiters of fate, there to pull the strings and run the machines and bring My Word to the Humans. And for a long time, everything moved along just fine, all according to Plan.

“But then... things got complicated. It wasn’t Supposed to get complicated, but it did, and I quickly realized that My Angels were more… well, they were _ more _than I had expected.”

Castiel’s heart dropped at the confirmation. “You made a mistake,” he said.

“What? No! Of course not,” Chuck scoffed. “There was just more to you than I originally thought. It was always there, always part of My Design.”

“So…” Castiel scrunched his brow, “you made us this way on purpose.”

“Oh— No. Not at all.”

The scrunch only deepened.

“I told you, it’s _really _hard to explain,” Chuck waved him off. “The point is, I had _started _with Beings who had a Purpose, who took Orders but still had enough Will to make decisions on their own. But what I _ended up with,_ were Creatures who were _moody _and _needy _and ruthless and viscous and _desperate_ for Approval.”

Castiel frowned. “‘Moody’?”

“Yeah, ‘moody’! Temperamental! Emotionally volatile! You want me to pull out a thesaurus?” One appeared in his hand.

“So…” Castiel looked up with new hope in his eyes. “So we _ are _meant to Feel.”

_ “Tch. _ No.” Chuck shut the thesaurus with a _ snap _and vanished it. “But you do.”

“Then… why make us this way?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“Well, I did.”

Castiel’s face darkened again.

“I am _ done _with your convoluted riddles and half-explained rules!” he burst. “If you’re not going to answer me then I am not going to stand here and—”

“Whoa-whoa, hey—”

“No! I’ve _ had _ it with this! I’ve had an _ eternity _ of this and it is _ enough!” _

“Yes, I Know, but—”

“Do you? Do you Know? Because it seems to me that if you Knew, you would know how your ‘miscommunication’ has _ destroyed _us!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say '_destroyed'—” _

“Of course you wouldn’t! You can’t see how your Word hurt us, how your leaving us _ hollowed _us! You left for no reason—”

“I mean, there was definitely a reason—”

“—You left with us with nothing! You left us to fend for ourselves, armed with nothing but a list of instructions— instructions meant to lead us to our own _ End!” _

“I— Well, you’re not supposed to look at it _ that _way!”

“Then what way are we supposed to look at it!”

“Well— My way.”

The lightbulb of the desk lamp shattered.

_“You,”_ Castiel snarled, his whole body heaving, “have _tortured_ us for eons. You have thrown us around, flailing as we tried to find which way to turn, desperately trying to avoid drawing your Wrath. We have scrambled, and scurried, searching for how best to Please you, but there was never a right way, was there? No matter what we did, it would never be enough.”

“Of _course_ there’s a right way—”

“Well, what is it? _ What is it! _ What _more_ can we do! We don’t know what you _ want! _One eon it's _this_ and the next age it's _that_—" Castiel stalked closer to Chuck, towering above him. "We tried! All of us tried and _all_ of us failed! So what are we supposed to do! We can't do what you directed, we can't follow each other, we _certainly_ can’t do as we please! We can’t seek our own happiness, we can't forge our own paths, we aren’t even supposed _ love—!” _

_“I never Said you shouldn’t!”_

Castiel froze.

“...What?”

Chuck lowered his raised palms. “I never Said... that you shouldn’t love the humans.”

Castiel’s mouth worked but no sound came out. 

Then he managed, “But— But the Oath—”

Chuck sighed, tossing a hand at his side. “See, Castiel, this is _ exactly _what I’m talking about,” he said. “I never asked any Oath of My Angels.”

“What… But…” Castiel stuttered. “No. No, of course it was you. The Order came straight from Gabriel—”

“Yes, well, _ just _ to be clear,” Chuck’s voice pitched high, “that Order- wasn’t an Oath. More like... Rules_. _ Not even _ Rules _so much as… guidelines.” 

Castiel stared. “They... They were…” 

“Guidelines! Directions! How-To's for basic things, you know? Like, Stay Loyal to _ Me_, and Do Your _ Duties_, and Don’t Make Babies with the Humans Because Turns Out the Kids are Kinda Hard to Handle— You know...” He spread his palms wide. “...guidelines.”

Castiel’s jaw hung open.

“We _ killed _Akobel.”

Chuck hissed through his teeth. “_Yeah… _Not really one of your guys’ best moves.”

“But…” Castiel tried, “But you Punish us for breaking the Oath—”

“Oh, no-no-no-no, _ I _ don’t do anything.” Chuck waved his hands emphatically. “That is _ all _ you guys! I mean— I never even _ said _ the word ‘Oath’! _ Lucifer _said ‘Oath’! And then the rest of you _picked up_ on it and parroted it back and forth to each other until you believed that it was Truth!”

He slumped with a sigh.

“It’s just— It’s just how you guys are,” Chuck said, almost to himself. He began to pace in his corner of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re Built to take Orders, so of _ course _you ended up like that: taking everything to the extreme, trying to fulfill every command to the fullest— It’s just… how you are. Nothing I can do to change that.”

Castiel finally blinked, a crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“So you all run _ around _ and you _ kill _ each other because you think it’s what I _ want,” _ Chuck was still saying as he paced, “and sometimes— _ egh— _ I just have _ no idea _ how you manage to twist My Words the way you do! You take what I say and make it fit what you want, because you seem to think it’s what _ I _want, because all you really want is to follow Me!”

“So you’re saying," Castiel shifted on his feet, "that for all these years... when I tried to follow your Instructions—”

“You were really just doing what you wanted to do, yeah,” Chuck shrugged. “But, hey, that was a good thing! Well— it turned out to be a good thing.”

“A good—!” Castiel sputtered, indignation returning anew. “My _ world _ fell apart! _ The _ world fell apart! _ Repeatedly! _ How is that a good thing!”

Chuck paused mid-step. Then he turned, and faced Castiel again, that same, too-wide smile breaking out once more. _ “Well, _ Castiel, you see... _ that’s _ what I came here for. I have something _ very _important to Tell you. ...Myself. Seeing as how Gabriel went and ran off eons ago.”

Castiel opened his mouth— 

“You see, Castiel,” Chuck went on, “I’ve had... _ such _ a hard time understanding My Angels, such a _terrible, difficult_ time. So a while back, _ I _ decided to start Working on something. Something _ very _important.”

Castiel raised a discerning eyebrow. “Something more important than keeping two Universes from colliding?”

The grin fell from Chuck’s lips. “Yes,” he said, one side of his face twitching slightly. “Yes, more important than that.”

Castiel waited for Chuck to go on. But Chuck seemed to be waiting for Castiel. 

“Well...” Castiel finally asked, “what is it?”

That smile returned now to Chuck’s face, somehow even more elated than before. 

“Why, _Castiel...”_ he said, spreading his arms wide. “Castiel, Castiel. It’s _ you.” _

Castiel drew back, his eyes searching over Chuck, brow knitting with a frown. “...Me?”

“Yes, _you,_ Castiel!” Chuck beamed. “_You _have been My greatest project since Humanity itself!”

“Your… ‘project’?”

“Yes, yes! Through you, I’ve been figuring all of this out! _Solving_ this enigma, working out the kinks!”

“‘The kinks’’?”

“Alright, don’t bring the repeating thing back, it wasn’t that good a gimmick the first time,” Chuck said. He straightened back up, landing his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. “Yes, Castiel. Angels Are Hard, so I’ve been figuring them out, through _ you!” _

“You’ve…” Castiel blinked, then shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t—?” Chuck rolled his eyes. “Okay, let me try it this way: The Angels have always been… problematic. Giving Me nothing but trouble even from the Start. So _ I _ decided I was going to figure them out, _once and for all._ And I have been. Through you. I’ve been altering and guiding you, watching you and taking notes. Really important work. You’ve been _ so _helpful, Castiel.”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change. “I still don’t understand.”

Chuck frowned with a huff. “I’ve been _ testing _you, Castiel! _Nudging_ and _tweaking_ you, _poking_ and _prodding!_ I mean come on, what part of this isn’t getting through?”

Comprehension finally dawned. “You… you’ve been _testing_ me?”

Chuck smiled. “Uh-huh!”

“You’ve been... _using_ me?”

_“Yes,_ and it’s been _ so _helpful, _amazingly_ so.”

Still Castiel stared, incredulous. “But...”

Castiel looked down at his hands, one still holding the speaker and the other one empty, the jacket draped over his arm. 

He looked back up at Chuck. *...What have you done?*

“Oh, all _sorts _of things, Castiel,” said Chuck. “See, something would happen to you, right? You’d fight an Archangel _ solo _ or absorb all the _ Leviathan_, and inevitably you’d hit a dead end. So I’d just… _take_ the opportunity, and I’d rebuild you. And then you’d make another _terrible_ choice, and I’d rebuild you again. Over and over and _ over— _putting you back together, just a little different each time, again and again. Letting you _grow. _Seeing where you’d go. And it's been good stuff, _very_ helpful.”

“I’m..." Castiel faltered. "I’ve been your Guinea Pig?”

“Hey, see? An idiom! I never expected _that_ at the start.”

Castiel looked down at the speaker again, still clutched in his hand. “So this past decade of torture—”

_ “Growth! _Growth, Castiel.”

“You allowed me to be atomized.”

“Yes, well—" Chuck winced. "Well, I mean, _ I _ didn’t— Those are things that have _ happened _ to you. _ I, _have been _shaping_ you.”

“But… But this is your Universe, your Creation—” 

“Yes, yes. But _I_ just go wherever the story takes me. I’m not— _ deciding _any of this.”

“You’re… You’re not…”

“Of course I’m not! Look, I know you think you’ve got this all figured out, but Castiel, you don’t. You can’t. And when you try— man, you come up with the craziest ideas! You think I _planned_ ten years of events? As some sort of— what, _ revenge _ upon you guys? That’s— That’s nuts! Ten years of story, planned out to the end—! I mean, who _ does _that?”

“You. _You_ do that.”

“I did. Once. It didn’t work.”

Castiel waited for Chuck to explain. He didn't.

"Then what _do _you do?" asked Castiel.

“I just... let the story happen. Been working that way for eons,” Chuck said with a shrug. “I just go with the flow and hope that it’s good. And so far it’s been… okay I think. Killing Death was pretty cool. Releasing the Leviathan was… dumb, but it made sense at the time. Bringing in a sister for Me seemed a bit over the top, bit of a desperate grab, but whatever. The British Men of Letters— worked, they did their job. _Ugh,_ and of course _Jack—” _

Chuck stopped himself quite suddenly. He glanced at Castiel.

“And Jack…?” Castiel prompted.

“Ah— Well— See—" Chuck's eyes darted. "See, the _Archangels_... tend to make everything… messier."

“Understatement of the year,” said Castiel.

“Oh! Hey! Three times and it’s a motif!” Chuck beamed, his previous skittishness immediately vanished. _ “Ahh, _ yeah, I really liked Sheriff Campos," he said with a distant look in his eye. "Another take-charge kind of woman, _ and _she upped the diversity around here! Win-win for everybody.” He leaned forward slightly, conspiratorially, “You know, since I can’t see it coming up again: That shapeshifter comment? Wasn’t a joke. She’d make a great ally.” He stood back up. “But you didn’t hear that from me,” he said with a wink.

He paused here, seemingly waiting for Castiel to respond to him again.

But the pause provided enough time for his words to start sinking in, and once again Castiel was brought to an incredulous stare. 

"So you... _weren't..._ judging what we did?"

"What? _No._ Why would I do that?"

“And... everything that happened to us…”

“Just _ happened_, yeah.”

“But you’ve been… directing me?”

“Well, _yeah,_ I _ am _God.”

Castiel shook his head, letting his gaze fall from Chuck down to his hands. One still holding Dean’s speaker, the other one empty.

“How many times?” he asked.

“Every time you’ve died,” said Chuck.

He turned his empty hand over, the jacket shifting on his arm. He flexed it, and opened it, and turned it over again.

“How much…” he said quietly, “how much is... me?”

Chuck drew back with a frown, seemingly off-put by this question. But he recovered quickly and shrugged, tipping his head to the side. “Well, more than you think. I mean, the rebellion that started all this? I knew the _ Winchesters _were going to resist, but you? That was a surprise. That was all you.”

Castiel looked up at him. Chuck continued. 

“See, you had a Task:” he said to Castiel, “'Deliver the Righteous Man from Hell', 'Bring Back the Michael Sword', 'Raise Dean from Perdition'. That was it. That was all I ever Meant of you. But, somewhere along the way, you decided that wasn’t enough. You stuck around, you kept popping up, and it made sense at the time but it just kept _happening_— And then the whole thing spiraled and things were coming to a head with Heaven vs the Boys and then so many things were happening at once and then _you_— You. You... willingly _died_. For _ Dean’s _ cause. In that house, facing down Raphael, remember? You _died _for him, and— _ boy— _that one threw me for a loop. I mean, I just _wasn't _expecting that.

"So at the time I thought, _ ‘what the heck?’ _ and I brought you back for another go, to see what might happen. And what _ happened,_ was that _ you _ stopped Dean from going to say ‘yes’ to Michael, and _ you _let him convince you to break him out of the Green Room, and then— coupled with everything happening with Sam— well next thing I knew, the whole Apocalypse wasn’t happening!

“And, man, for a while there— I was pretty upset, you know? I mean, the first time around was bad enough but then I’d spent _how_ many ages on this, lining _everything_ up, getting _all_ the pieces together and it was all going to culminate into this _ amazingly _ epic battle, Brother against Brother, _ two _ sets of brothers even—!” Chuck lowered the triumphant fist he had raised. “But then it didn’t. It _ couldn’t_.

"Because _you_ made it impossible. _ You _ showed up, and _ you _ turned around, and _ you _ said ‘no’. You looked right up at Me and you said... that they deserved better. That _Humanity_ deserved more. And of course, at first I didn’t want to listen to you, you know?I mean, who Knew them better than _ Me, _ right? But you… Castiel, you told Me to stop. You told _Me_ to stop, and to _ listen. _

“None of your siblings had ever done that before.

“But _you_ did, Castiel. So I put you back together and I stopped. I listened. And I _heard_ what you’d been trying to say, what _ they’d _been trying to say all along. That there was more here, that there was more to uncover, more to tell! So I kept going, I let all of you keep going, just to find out what it was. 

“And it was… a lot. You guys had so much more to tell me, so much more hiding in there. After what happened— the first time— with what Lucifer did— after all that, I had thought that the best thing was to just _End it all._ To End it, and to wipe the slate clean. To start all over with something new. But I made it to that End, and I just...”

Chuck blinked.

He refocused his gaze on Castiel. “Ah— Never mind, I’m getting off track. This is for you. Where was I?”

“Um—”

“Right, the Apocalypse, right." Chuck looked up at Castiel with his hands folded in front of himself. "So the Apocalypse couldn’t happen," he said, "and so of course the story kept going, yada, yada. And _as it did,_ I _realized_… I had a _ fantastic _opportunity right in front of me.

“See _you_, Castiel, _you_ were the _key, _the key to the _puzzle_ that was My Angels. Because where _they_ had failed Me, _Humanity_ had _succeeded_, and now you, _ you _ were right there, and you were _ learning _ from them! So as everything else went on after the Apocalypse, I listened again, I listened to _you_. I listened to what _you_ wanted to tell me, let you go where _ you _ wanted to go, and every time something happened to you, I tweaked you in that direction. A little more Will here, a little less Obedience there, got Jimmy out of your vessel, made that body a little more _ yours _with every pass through. Gave you some quirks, too! Fidgeting, tidying your hair, a new tie every now and then— you know, endearing stuff.”

Castiel raised a hand to his hair and looked down at his tie.

“So you see— _Castiel— _you’ve been _ helping _ me all along! All this time you feared that you weren’t following my ‘Plan,’ but, Castiel— you _ were _the Plan. You have just been a _ driving _ force, this story simply _couldn’t_ exist without you. So thank you, Castiel, for what _ I _ have accomplished through _ you_. Now I can... do with the Angels what I always wanted. Now I can _finally_ fix what’s wrong and continue this story how I really want. And it's all thanks... to you.” 

Chuck spread his hands wide, watching Castiel with an equally wide smile.

But Castiel didn’t say anything, _co__uldn’t_ say anything. He could only gape, could only stare. He stepped back, bumping up against the door of Dean’s room; he looked down at the door handle, around the room, up at Chuck, back down to his hands—

Chuck’s arms fell a fraction. “Um… Castiel?”

Castiel began shaking his head, still staring at his hands. “I’m… I...” He looked up at Chuck, still shaking his head. “You’ve… You’ve _Chosen_ me… The Angels… You’ve Chosen _me_ for… for a Renewal—”

Chuck's smile returned. “A _ ‘Renewal’. _ Oh, I like that, that’s good.”

“But I…” Castiel looked back down at his hand.

Chuck brought his arms back in front of himself, his smile turning warm once again. “That's alright, Castiel, take your time.”

Castiel shook his head again. “But so much has happened. So much suffering has occurred.—”

Chuck ticked back.

“—So many have been _ killed _in the name of this, by my actions, in my name and in other’s, and I… I can ignore what’s happened to me—”

“Please don’t.”

“—but others, so many others, what happened to them…”

"Was part of the Plan!"

"Part of the..." Castiel trailed off. "And... And what happened to Dean...?

“Was his choice and his alone.”

Castiel snapped his gaze back up to Chuck, and found his face impassable and stony. 

“What…?" Castiel began. "No— No, he— But _ I _was the one who turned away from You. _ I _ rejected You, and You sent Lucifer to tell Dean—”

“I didn’t.”

“But— But the Other Michael was coming, and You Asked him to—”

“I didn't _ Ask _ him to do anything,” Chuck snipped. “For goodness sa— I _just_ told you, like a _minute _ago: I don’t _ Tell _ any of you to _do_ things. I haven't Told anyone to do _ anything _since... gosh, since I decided on the first End.”

Castiel gaped at him. “What? No… What?”

Chuck sighed, half-tossing a hand at him, “Look... this is kind of the whole point of Free Will, Castiel. There was a very long string of choices that led you and Dean up to that moment. You made _ your _ choices, Dean made _ his _ choices, and we all ended up here. I mean, _you_ had a _ drastically _incorrect assumption about the Nature of all this for the duration of your choices, _but..._ well, that’s just how this goes. But, look, we’re not talking about Dean, this is about—”

“No!” Castiel shouted. “Dean didn’t make a _ choice! _ Michael _ tricked _ Dean! He _ used _ me to _ trick _Dean, that’s no choice!”

“Castiel, there were an _infinite_ number of ways that misunderstanding could have been avoided—”

“Were there?” said Castiel. He took a step forward. 

“Well—” Chuck seemed to falter, “Well— I mean, of course. You two could have done almost anything el—”

“So you knew it didn’t have to happen, and _still_ you did nothing?” He took another step forward. “You _ stood by _ while this happened? You truly did _ nothing?” _

“Castiel—”

“You could have stepped in at any time and changed our course!” Castiel shouted. “You could have guided us! You could have stopped this! You could have—” 

_ “Castiel,” _Chuck warned. “This isn’t for you to Question.”

“No! Now you are going to tell me why!” Castiel shouted back. “You’ve been avoiding it this whole time, _ why _ didn’t you stop this! _ Why _ didn’t you _ do _ something! Why would you let _ any _ of this just happen to us, let this happen to _ Dean—!” _

_ “__Castiel!__” _came Chuck’s shout, underwritten by a **boom** of thunder that echoed in Chuck's eyes. _“You _ will remember your _ Place.”_

“But—”

_ “Castiel.” _

And Castiel raised his chin, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring, 

But he held his tongue.

Chuck tossed a hand at his side. “I suppose this is what I get for letting you hang around the Winchesters in the first place,” he said. Then he looked back up at Castiel. “I’m not here to baby you, Castiel. I came here with a message—”

“Oh, have you.”

“I _ have,” _Chuck stressed, the warning returned to his voice.

Castiel stood tall, still staring him down. 

And Castiel saw that Chuck appeared… tired, worn down. As they faced off, his posture quietly slumped, and he gave a short sigh. “Look, earlier you asked— You wanted to know why I’m answering your questions now. Well, Castiel, you were about to walk out that door and single-handedly drink yourself into a coma, and you were going to enrage about three towns worth of bars to do it. A _huge_ mess that would have taken _weeks_ to sort out, if it could be sorted out at all. So. Here I am, _Divine Providence manifest,_ right here before you! And frankly that in _itself_ should have been _enough_, but—_ ugh,_ you’ve always been like this. Subtlety— doesn’t work with you. So I’m going to try again.”

Chuck spread his arms once again, more towards Castiel than in any grand gesture. “Castiel, Angel of the Lord, I, the aforementioned Lord, am here to Tell you, _ for the love of Me: _don’t give up just yet, keep working at this, for just a little bit longer.”

Castiel’s eyes flew wide, his glower vanished and his lips parting in disbelief. “But— we can’t—”

“But you _can!_ You’re so close, Castiel! You are _so close_ to accomplishing what you want. I just need you to keep going! Just a _little_ bit longer.”

Castiel gaped in disbelief, his heart daring to lift in his chest.

But reality rushed in again, dousing his flickers of hope. He glanced away from Chuck, his nose wrinkling. 

“But... Father...” he started carefully. When Chuck said nothing at his tone he continued, keeping his voice carefully even. “Father... we’ve tried everything, we’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find him, I can’t reach him—"

"Can't you?" asked Chuck.

"Not without doing... _ terrible _things.”

“Isn’t he worth it?”

Castiel snapped back up. “What?”

That wide smile had returned to Chuck’s face. “Isn’t Dean worth it?”

Castiel gasped softly at this, staring at Chuck.

“So he's alive?” he said before he could stop himself.

Chuck sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, Castiel, Dean is alive.”

Hope burst anew in his chest, and yet...

“But the rift— And Michael— We can’t know if Dean— if his soul—”

_ “Castiel, _ Castiel,” Chuck chided, his smile shifting into a sly grin. “Why are you so worried? He’s a _ Winchester! _You know better than anyone that death and like are just a temporary setback where they’re concerned.”

Castiel stood taller. “So... does that mean... that you're going to—?”

“No,” Chuck clipped, irritated and short. “_I _ won't do anything. _ You _will.”

His eyes widened. “..._I _ will?”

"Of course, who else is going to do it."

"Uhm—"

"Look, I'm telling you, you're so close. You just have to take that last step to get there."

"But you haven't Allowed us to succeed all this time—"

_"I don't Allow anyth—!"_ Chuck clenched his fists in the air. _"Mmnh! Damn_ it, Castiel, you already _had _this epiphany! You were so close, _so close, _and then _Lucifer _had to—" Chuck stopped abruptly, drawing his shoulders back and unclenching his hands. “Okay. Look. _Castiel._ I need— I _need _you, to understand this. I don’t _direct _all of this. I don't _control, any _of this. I don't Reward anyone, I don't _Punish_ anyone, Human or Angel. And be glad that I don't, I mean, do you _want _to end up like the Leviathan?"

Castiel barely managed not to point out that he _had _ended up like the Leviathan for a time. Barely.

"All of this? It just happens," Chuck continued. "The ‘good’ things, the ‘bad’ things, they just _happen. _I don’t start them, I don’t stop them, they _just. happen._ Just look at Sam and Dean. When they succeed? I don't give them that. Their nigh invulnerability? I don't give them that. I've _never _given them that. That’s not what I _do._ I don’t go around _saving_ them from things! Well— okay,” he held up his palms, “except for that one time with the plane. But I was still trying to save My Apocalypse at that point and Sam wasn't ready to say ‘yes’ and Lucifer would have _totally _killed Dean and that would have messed _everything—_” Chuck stopped. “My point is: _I_ don't do _any_ of that that for them. _They _do that for them. And so do you. _Everything _you guys do, _you do of your own choices. _Not mine. It's not Punishment, it's just how it happened. So you have no reason to stop yet, you have no reason to veer off course, okay? You just have to go back out there, and take what you need, and _keep. going.”_

Castiel stood utterly still in the wake of that. The room was silent for a long moment before Castiel was able to speak again.

“But, Father...” Castiel started, and he didn’t miss the blatant annoyance that flashed in Chuck’s eyes this time, “even if I find Dean—"

_"When _you find Dean."

_ "When. _ I find Dean… You say he is alive but... even if I reach him, how will I know what to do? _ Michael _has him, your favorite—”

“Michael is not my favorite.”

Castiel stammered for a moment. “But— since Lucifer—”

“He isn’t.”

Castiel stared at him in utter confusion.

Chuck let out another sigh, landing one hand on his hip as he gestured with the other. “Look, Castiel. You will do what you have to do. You will do what it takes, _whatever_ it takes to save him, and I know, I _ Know, _ you will allow nothing to stop you.”

“But, Father—”

_ “Castiel,” _ Chuck said, his voice tense with warning again. “_All_ you need to know, is that you will find him. And you will save him. And you will save what has blossomed between you two, I’m sure of it, everything is leading up to it.”

Castiel’s eyes flew wide at this.

“Oh come _ on! _ ” Chuck rolled his eyes so hard his upper body rolled. “_You_ learning you're in love? _Dean_ realizing he was bi? The sudden appearance of _ selkies _ that can see into your _ ‘hearts’? _ It’s obvious! It’s practically _ blatant! _ _Way_ more evident than the idea that this is all— happening just to _ Punish _you! What kind of mental gymnastics—? It's _right there, _it's right in front of you!” 

Castiel tipped his head to one side. “Dean... didn’t know?”

Now it was Chuck’s turn to stare incredulously. “Oh. _Wow._ You guys really never talk, do you? Okay. Noted.” 

He shook the stunned look from his face and stepped forward, stopping right in front of Castiel and reaching up to place his hand on his shoulder. 

“Castiel,” he said. “You can do this. You _ will _do this. I Know you will.” 

“But— How— If you aren’t directing it— How do you know?”

Chuck smiled again, wide, and knowing. “Because I have faith in you, Castiel.”

Castiel straightened up sharply. “You… you do?”

And Chuck’s smile grew even larger, into the widest, toothiest grin yet. “Why of _ course _I do, Castiel,” he said. “And who Knows you better than Me, right?” 

He winked at Castiel— 

And then he vanished.

~*~*~*~ 

**March 28, 2018, 3:48am**

Over the years that Sam had lived in the bunker, the sound of the footsteps that would pass through the library had become little more than white noise to him. All day, every day, people would walk across the room; from hallway to kitchen, from kitchen to map room, back and forth, again and again, day in and day out.

This evening though— or was it morning already— Sam found himself looking up at the sound of one set of footsteps approaching. It caught his attention for some reason, strange to his ear, the weight and the cadence seeming... off. Unfamiliar. So Sam raised his eyes, already reaching for his gun— 

And looked righted back down at his book again, his face dropping into a scowl. 

If Gabriel noticed Sam's reaction, Sam didn’t see it. 

**ca-clink**

Sam glanced up again, at the sound of glass on wood. He turned, looking over at the space next to him, and saw Gabriel’s hand withdrawing, leaving two vials sitting on the table.

Two full, _ glowing _vials.

It was a long moment before Sam could even speak. “Is— Is that—?”

“Mine, yeah,” said Gabriel. 

Sam began to reach out to one, but stopped his hand short. “Gabriel—” 

“I know it's not much, but— it should be enough.”

"I— Yeah. _More_ than." Sam looked between the vials and Gabriel.

Gabriel was standing behind the chair next to Sam's, resting his hands on the back. Or, more like... Gabriel was gripping the chair. Even leaning on it, almost like he needed its support.

Sam looked back to the vials.

And back to Gabriel.

And back to the vials...

“Gabriel, you… you need this,” said Sam. 

“That? Nah, that’s nothin’,” said Gabriel, dismissing it all with a wave of his hand. He stepped back from the chair, almost managing to suppress a wobble. “Nothin’ I can’t build up again, anyway.”

“But—”

“Really, it’s nothin’,” he said again, and turned to start to walk away, definitely unsteady on his feet.

And those same unfamiliar footsteps reached Sam’s ears again.

He sighed.

“You’ve been saving it,” he said.

Gabriel paused, turning back a little. 

“You’ve been walking everywhere haven’t you?” Sam continued. “To save the grace it takes to fly.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Yeah well, flying, walking,” he shrugged, “what’s the difference, really?”

Sam looked from him to the vials again, and he frowned.

“Why now?” Sam asked. “You waited this long, why now?”

Gabriel glanced away. When he looked back, Sam almost thought he saw something like guilt on his face. “It just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Gabriel turned and started off again as Sam picked up one of the vials, holding it carefully between his fingers. 

“Gabriel.”

Gabriel paused again, turning to meet Sam’s purposeful gaze.

“...Thank you,” said Sam.

And Gabriel’s whole body lifted, the side of his mouth rising in a small, but profoundly relieved smile. 

“No problem, Samshine.”


	7. Chapter 7

**March 31, 2018, two weeks after Texas**

The bunker positively buzzed with activity, all five residents rushing to and fro in frantic preparation. There were ingredients to compile, foods to stock up on, weapons to check, re-check, and arm with ammo; all manner of supplies needed to be gathered for this trip, who knew how long they would end up having to stay in the Apocalypse World. 

This morning, Sam was in the middle of running down his list of contacts in the hunter community, shoring up any errant items they still needed and notifying the network that he and the bunker’s resources were going to be unavailable for a time. For the interim, Sam coordinated a temporary system for other hunters to contact each other, a sort of call tree they could use for help, more formalized than the old system of "call whoever you know," but less centralized than the most recent system of "better call Sam Winchester."

He was vaguely aware that this system may have to become permanent, depending on how this went down.

Which was why he was putting off one of the calls on his list, it wasn’t going to be an easy one. But eventually Sam had whittled his list was down to the last three names, and he _ really _wasn’t looking forward to the other two, so he sucked it up, pulled up the contact, and dialed.

_ “Hey there, Sam,” _ Jody answered with a careful, kind tone. _ “Any news? Or do you got another lead you need me to check.” _

Sam took a short breath, releasing it in a quick huff. “News. I’ve got news, Jody.”

_ “Oh yeah?” _

“Yeah. We— We got the last ingredient. For the spell.”

_ “Oh...? Oh!” _ she said. _ “Oh. So you’re—” _

“Leaving as soon as we can, yeah.”

_ “Yeah. Of course, yeah,” _ said Jody. Sam thought he heard her shift in a seat. He definitely heard her sigh. _ “Look, Sam—” _

“I’ve already called everyone else to let them know, told them not to bother calling for a while,” he said in a rush. “A-And I’ll have someone stay on this side, just to watch the place, just in case—”

_ “Sam.” _

“A-and I know you and Donna might have to get in, so I’m leaving you the key, I’ve got a— a lock-box at the bank that you’ll have access to so—”

_ “ _ _ Sam _ _ .” _

He stopped, shutting his eyes against her tone. “...Yeah?”

_ “Just… be careful over there, okay?” _

Sam blinked his eyes open.

_ “Promise you’ll take care of each other. No matter what you find— or what you don’t,” _ she amended, _ “just... just make sure you all get back home, okay?” _

“Yeah.” Sam nodded with a hint of a smile. “Yeah, Jody, I will.”

_ “Good. Now send me the info on that lock-box. Never know when I’m gonna need to bore myself to sleep with the mating habits of jackalopes.” _

“Hey, those jackalopes solved your case, didn’t they?”

_ “Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you soon, Winchester.” _

“Talk to you soon, Jody,” he promised. 

_ “And— hey,” _ she caught his attention again. _ “You tell everyone there we love ‘em, alright? Me, Donna, the girls— we love you, all of you, so, _ _ so_ _ much.” _

Sam ducked his face. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll tell them, Jody. We love you, too.”

_ “Damn right you do. Now get out of here so you can come back to us, alright?” _

“Alright,” he agreed, and they said their goodbyes. 

Bolstered in a way he hadn’t been in weeks, Sam pulled up the next call he needed to make. He wasn't any more excited to make it than he'd been a minute ago, but this mission... they were going to need all the help they could get. So Sam decided to take a chance, and he tapped his thumb on the little green phone. 

It rang, and it rang, and Sam was just about convinced he wasn’t going to get an answer when the call went through.

_ “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Moose.” _

Sam allowed himself a quick sigh of relief. He’d pretty much written Rowena off at this point, so thank goodness at least _ one _of their almost-allies still answered his calls. “Hey, Crowley. Look, I’ll get right to the point—”

_ “Appreciate it.” _

“—Dean’s stuck in that Apocalypse Dimension. We’re going in to get him back, him and Mom and Jack, and we could really use your help.”

Sam had expected one of two outcomes from this call, and he most certainly got one of them.

_ “You look here, _ _ Samantha__,” _ Crowley snarled, _“I do not, and will never again, care about what happens to that _ _ damned _ _ man.” _

“Yes, but maybe—”

_ “And more prudently, I will never, under _ _ no _ _ circumstances, _ _ ever_ _ return to that bloody dimension! You might _ _ remember _ _ if you were even a _ _ smidgeon _ _ more sensitive, but the last time I joined you for an excursion there, I got myself just a little bit _ _ dead__!” _

“Yes, but—”

_ “Learn to take ‘no’ for an answer, Jolly Green! Now do me a favor, and never call me again, yeah? _ _ Goodbye__!” _

And he hung up.

Sam slowly lowered his phone from his ear, staring at it. 

“...Did he just...?” 

“Sam?”

Sam looked up at Castiel’s voice. 

He was standing in the entrance to the hallway, an absolute rat’s nest of cords gathered in his arms.

“Do we have more chargers?” Castiel asked. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. 

———

Crowley damn near crushed his damned phone in his damned hands. The _ gall— _ the utter _ nerve— _ How _ dare _ he ask Crowley to drop everything for that _ absolute—! _

The little red circle on his phone's screen caught Crowley’s eye. 

One voicemail unread.

He’d been ignoring it for weeks, that damned little dot. And he almost managed to keep on ignoring it... 

Crowley sighed heavily, and tapped play. 

Holding the phone to his ear, he braced himself, and listened to the message he’d received two weeks ago:

_ “Hey— _ ahem— _ Hey, Crowley,” _ came Dean Winchester’s voice. _ “I, uh, I know you don’t wanna hear from me…” _

———

“Cas, you know there’s no electricity in this dimension, right?” said Sam as he dug through the kitchen junk drawer.

“I highly doubt that in the ten years since their Apocalypse these people haven’t found new ways to capture electricity,” Castiel answered as he watched him search. “Humans are more resilient than that.”

“Sure, but—” Sam shook his head and let it go. “What is this for, anyway?” he asked instead. 

“My phone.”

“Your phone?" Sam frowned over the drawer. "Um, Cas... that won’t work over there, man. There’s not going to be _ signal _much less a network we could connect to.”

Castiel fidgeted slightly. “I don’t need the signal.”

Sam turned around, the one charging cord he had found thus far held loosely in his hand. “Then... what do you need your phone for?”

Just then, the quiet song that had been playing out of Castiel’s coat pocket ended and a new one began, drawing Sam’s ear. 

“Oh,” said Sam. 

When Gabriel had given Sam his grace two days ago, Sam had gone to tell Castiel immediately, finding him, unsurprisingly, in Dean’s room. (Though it _ had _taken a bit longer than expected to locate him, since apparently the bunker had moved the room yet again.) What _ had _ been surprising though, was the reappearance of Dean’s little gray bluetooth speaker. Sam was pretty sure Castiel hadn’t been carrying it before, but now it went with him _ everywhere. _And it was always on, always playing, muffled in the pocket of Castiel’s coat, but always playing some song or another. At first it had torn at Sam’s heart, with the gift he’d given Dean for his last birthday now always around, especially after the silence of the past two weeks, but it quickly became something he was glad to hear, a presence that gave him this strange feeling of... hope. 

“Look, Cas," Sam began, "I-I get it, really, but…” 

Castiel’s arms tightened around his jumble of cords, what had to be nearly every charger in the bunker.

Sam sighed, leaning more heavily on the junk drawer. “No. Yeah. I do get it. ...Okay.” He shut the drawer and held out his hand. “Could I see it for a second?”

Castiel hesitated, glancing down at Sam’s hand. Then he reached into his pocket, and withdrew the little speaker. 

“Thanks,” said Sam as Castiel handed it over.

He looked at it for a moment, gray, with black lines criss-crossing over its woven surface, gently vibrating in Sam’s hand as it continued to play on. 

Then he set it down on the island, and moved over to one of the upper cabinets near the stove. He frowned in concentration, searching through its contents.

Shutting the door, he to the island with a few plastic jars in his hands. He centered the speaker on the counter, and popped open the top of one of the jars, sprinkling crushed basil in a circle around it.

Castiel watched him intently, but didn’t ask any questions.

Sam opened another one jar placed a few bay leaves around the speaker as well. Then he opened a chamomile tea bag and spread that, too.

Then the herbs were set aside. Sam raised one hand over the speaker, and held the other out to Castiel.

Castiel looked at it, then at Sam.

And took it.

One corner of Sam’s lips twitched up as he turned back to his little set-up. He began to recite some words, first in Latin, then Enochian, then Latin again. The irises of his eyes lit white, the speaker began to glow a soft blue, and then, with a small burst of air and a quick flash of light, the spell ended.

Sam released Castiel’s hand and picked up the speaker from where it had fallen over. 

“Here,” he said, handing it to Castiel, “now it won’t run out of battery.”

Carefully, Castiel took the speaker back. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely. Then his eyes went wide and he looked up at Sam to ask, “It’s... powered by grace now?”

“Yeah," answered Sam. "But just a tiny amount, you won’t even notice! A-and, I mean— it’ll probably draw off of me, too— since you’ve given me so much of your grace. I can do it to your phone, too, if you want—”

Sam was interrupted by Castiel practically falling into him, throwing his arms around Sam and squeezing him tight in a crushingly grateful hug.

And Sam returned it readily, squeezing him back as much as he could.

“I told you we would get him back,” he said.

Castiel hugged him a fraction tighter.

Sam swallowed, nodding minutely, mostly to himself. “We’re gonna get them all back.”

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


**March 31, 2018, nearing midnight**

Later that same night, all their preparations finally came together. 

Bris entered the library, dropping a duffel bag into the pile that was already gathered at the end of the long tables. It landed with a thud, filled mostly with things like food and water filters, knives and extra ammo. Belatedly she realized it was the most she’d ever carried on a long trip. Usually she traveled by sea, usually alone.

Her bag was joined a moment later by Castiel’s, which landed far more softly, it's evident heaviness cushioned by whatever else was in it. 

“So. Finally, huh?” she said, turning to him with a smile.

He looked over at her.

“Finally goin’," she clarified. "Finally ready, yeah?”

The neutrality on Castiel’s face turned suddenly dark. “I have been ready since the _ moment _Dean was taken.”

“Hey no, a’course— I only meant—” 

Bris stopped and regrouped. 

“This’ll all be over soon,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “this’ll all be over, an’ he’ll be home, an’ we can all move on from this.”

The thunderclouds faded from Castiel’s expression. “Yes,” he said, and moved over to the closest table.

Bris sighed as she watched him go. "_Right."_

Castiel went to stand across the table from where Sam was hunched over, surrounded by ingredients, Gabriel’s translation of Kevin’s notes, and also Direl, who was actually around for once. He stood at Sam’s shoulder, watching him work with rapt fascination. Sam was carefully separating out the ingredients for the original portal spell from the Demon Tablet, dividing the Fruit from the Tree of Life, the Blood of a Most Holy Man, and the Grace of an Archangel into two piles, withthe Seal of Solomon nestled on its chain nearby. He made two piles, because they needed to _get_ to the Apocalypse Dimension, of course, but they also needed to get back. 

As Bris watched him, she noted that Sam looked better than he had in days. He still hadn’t taken the time to shave, but he’d slept more than a scant few hours last night, and he'd washed his hair, and Bris had actually gotten him to eat a real meal today, managing to convince him on the grounds that he needed his energy up to face whatever they found on the other side of the portal. It wasn’t full improvement, and they were still barely speaking to each other... but it was better. And ‘better’ was something Bris could cling to. 

Gabriel entered the library then, with no bags of his own, and met Bris's eyes. She gave him a warm, grateful smile. Gabriel ducked his head at her gaze, almost bashful, but he continued into the room, and together the two of them moved over to join the others at the table. 

But as Bris and Gabriel reached them, Sam paused his work. 

“Well…?” said Bris. “C’mon now, we done waited this long.” 

Sam’s eyes darted. He stood up, running a hand back through his hair. “Well, um,” he tried, “It’s just… I-It’s just that...”

The others stared at Sam. “Yeah?” prompted Direl. “What’s up, mate?” 

“It’s just—” Sam let out a breath. “I think... I think that… somebody should stay behind. T-To watch the bunker.”

The others glanced around at each other, wondering who might volunteer.

But Sam glanced, however briefly, at Bris.

“Wha—” she blanched, “What, _ me?” _

Sam winced. 

Bris made a small noise of disbelief. “But… But why?”

Sam’s eyes darted around at the others. “I just— think— it might be best. I-If you stayed.”

“Yes, but _ why?” _she asked again, trying and failing miserably to keep the worry out of her voice.

Sam at least seemed to notice that, his eyes darting again. “I just think— that— it would be best for you,” he finally said.

Bris drew herself _ straight _up at that.

“You think it would be best fer _ me_,” she repeated, fixing Sam with a _ piercing _glare. The vulnerable worry was utterly vanished, replaced now with a steady, visceral anger.

Anger that Sam _ absolutely _caught onto. “Well, y-you— y-you’ve just— never— never been over there—”

“Neither have they!” She gestured at Direl and Gabriel. 

“Yes, but— but someone should really stay— to watch the bunker—”

“Why?” Direl jumped in. “It did fine on its own all that time before you lot found it. An’ ye said you were leavin’ a key for Jody, didn’cha?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, _ why, _ then?” Bris demanded.

“It’s— See, it’s—” 

Sam glanced over at Castiel and Gabriel.

And received absolutely no help. 

“I-It’s going to be dangerous over there,” he said in a rush, “and you haven’t _ done _something like this before, so—”

Bris squawked in indignation. Direl and Gabriel groaned. *Ah, you daft man...* said Direl.

“Don’t you _ pull _this crap with me again, Sam Winchester—” started Bris.

“I’m not pulling any crap! I just think that maybe you—”

_ “Why _ d’you think that I can’t hold my own?” she demanded of him. “_Why _ d’ye tell me to stay behind all'a the time when I can fight just as well as any a’ youse?”

“I don’t think that—! I know you can—! I mean that one time _ was _Hell—”

“Aye! An’ I _ shoulda _gone with ye!”

“But— Okay, well— well— Well, _ you _ don’t have the same _ experience _as we do—!”

This time Bris and Direl _ both _squawked.

“I been fightin’ thick-headed fuckers since before yer _ grandfather _ were born, Sam Winchester!” Bris proclaimed. “Vandals an’ villains what woulda knocked over mine own home! _ Trained soldiers _a' the Crown what woulda killed me an’ everyone I ever known without a _ moment’s _ hesitation! I’ve fought in uprisin’s! _ Revolutions! _ Proper battles the likes a’ which you never even seen!”

“The Great War!” supplied Direl.

“Don’t go fibbin’, now, I didn’t go off fer that nonsense,” said Bris. She addressed Sam again. “I don’ know _ where _ ye got it in yer gourd that I don’t know what I’m doin’. I mean, if I’m rememberin’ right, _ I’m _ the one what saved _yer_ ass the fuckin’ night we _ met _with that affanc, an’ then again from that vampire—” 

“And the witch!" said Direl. "Don’t forget how ye fucked up that witch!”

“—I done _ told _ye what I did wit’ them demons outside a’ the Hell house—”

_ “God, _ I wish I coulda seen that.”

“—I’ve fought off Hunters what wanted me dead, Cupids what wanted me stopped, Merrows an’ _E__ach-Uisces_ an’ _ damned _Killer Whales—”

_ “You _ ever fought off a Killer Whale, Sam? You ever fought a damned whale wit' yer teeth?” demanded Direl.

“That— doesn’t really seem relevant—” Sam started. “Bris, I just—”

“You want me to stay away from yer heart, _ fine,” _ Bris spat at him. “But I ain’t sendin’ you over to a _ war zone _ without _ every _advantage you can get.” 

“I don't—! That isn't—!" Sam fumbled, but Bris could tell she'd struck home with that one. "Well—" Sam pivoted, "Well, Gabriel and Cas will be—”

"Don't bring me into this!" said Gabriel, while Castiel frowned perplexedly at all of them. 

Bris rounded the corner of the table between them and marched right up to Sam, jabbing her finger, _ hard, _into his chest.

“You are _ not _ leavin’ me behind, Sam Winchester,” she snarled up at his face. “Not again. Not _ one more time. _ I’m _ sick _of it.”

Sam stared down at her glaring up at him, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched hers, the longest he’d looked at her in weeks... 

And he chuffed. 

“Okay,” he said, one corner of his mouth actually pulling up in a smile. “I should— I guess I should know better by now, than to think I can make you do anything.”

“Damn right,” snapped Bris. She looked Sam up and down once, then stepped back, crossing her arms as she returned to her previous spot. “Alright then,” she said with a final huff, “seems we oughtta get this show on the road, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, the gravity of the moment returning to his voice. “Yeah, let’s get going.” 

He reached for one of the Fruit, when—

“I’m afraid I must advise against that.”

The five of them spun around, weapons drawn in an instant, and saw— 

Gabriel lowered his open hand immediately. Castiel held his blade higher.

Standing before them now, framed in the wide opening between the library and the map room, was a woman.

Or at least, the visage of a woman.

She was tall, possibly taller than Sam. She had bright copper skin, sparkling dark eyes, a sharp, long nose, and a soft oval face. Her deeply black hair was pulled back by a shining ribbon, forming a halo of loose coils behind her head, just long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders. She was arresting in her beauty, immediately holding an air of authority over the room even as she gazed over them all, a kind smile gracing lips the color of rich wine. Her flowing silver dress, tied at the waist by a thick belt embroidered with intricate knotwork, rustled softly in a breeze that no one could feel.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded, tightening his grip on his gun.

The woman’s eyes shifted to him, and her smile turned fond. She spread her open hands in a welcoming, comforting gesture. 

“But My dear Sam,” she said, and even her voice was large and warm, “you already know Me well.”

“I've never seen you in my life.”

“Oh, but you have. As have all of you.” She looked to the others as well. “I have been with you from the start, in the turn of chance or through the closest escape, in the change of the wind— or perhaps—” she smiled at Castiel, “of a song.” 

Castiel’s expression only hardened. 

Amusement peeked through the woman’s smile. She clasped her hands before her, addressing them all again. “_I_ am the Eldest of My Sisters, known by many, many names: Moirai, Parcae, Norn. But you know Me simply... as Fate.”

The eyes of the mortals present flew wide, in fact Bris and Direl dropped their arms entirely, nearly dropping their blades as well.

But Castiel stared the woman down. 

“What do _ you _want with us?” he demanded.

Fate returned her gaze to him, that warm smile unfaltering. “Hello to you, too, brother.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You are no angel.”

_ *Du-ude, _ ix-nay on the ude-ray!* Gabriel elbowed him.

“We have no time for your strange tongues,” Castiel snapped at him.

“This is true,” Fate answered Castiel, “I am not an angel. But are we not of the same Creators? Are Beings such as we not all siblings in this Universe?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “I suppose. If you want to be extremely literal about it.”

“Don't you?”

Castiel held his glare a moment longer. 

Then he lowered his blade.

“Hello, sister,” he said. 

Though his scowl remained. 

Fate returned her attention to everyone else. “My apologies for my abrupt entrance,” she said. “It seems to be how you are typically greeted and I didn’t wish to alarm you unnecessarily.” 

There was an awkward silence following this. They all glanced at each other— 

And with an awful pang, Sam and Castiel both realized this was where Dean would have thrown back a snarky retort.

Direl seemed to come back to himself first. “My stars—” he said, hastily stuffing his blade back into his belt. “Our _apologies,_ my— my Lady? Your Highness? Goddess-ship?”

Fate chuckled, a sound like bells that reverberated around her.

“Whaddo we even do?” Direl shot a harried look at Bris. “Do we— do we bow or— or kneel or—? Fuck, Inas never said—” He clapped a hand over his own mouth at his profanity.

“Stand tall, My child,” said Fate. “I require nothing of you. Your acknowledgement is plenty enough.” 

Castiel’s eyes narrowed again. “_Your _ child?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

Fate looked to Castiel, and for the first time since she’d appeared, the smile on her face dimmed by a fraction. “Make no mistake, brother angel, the selkies are My children, not your father’s.”

“Isn’t he also _ your _father?” said Sam, who was notably still pointing his weapon at her. 

Fate looked directly at him, that smile now pulling ever-so-slightly tight. “No.”

“But you said—”

*_Sam, _ let’s not question the _ very powerful lady _ who we have _ basically no defenses against, _okay?* Gabriel murmured through the side of his mouth. 

Sam glanced at Gabriel and frowned. But he didn’t question Fate further.

*And put that gun down!* 

“Oh—” Sam fumbled his gun, hurrying to return it to its holster.

As the others had spoken, Bris had just stood, silent, her blade-arm hanging limp at her side. She stood stock-still, and stared at the goddess before her with wide, worried eyes. 

*You’re…* she finally said on a breath, *you’re… Fate?*

Fate turned her attention to Bris. 

And her smile fell completely.

Bris’s heart fell through the floor.

“Oh, My child—” Fate rushed forward, her arms outstretched. Unseen by Bris, Castiel threw a wing in front of her, blocking Fate’s path, but she simply walked through it, and bent down to fully envelop Bris in a tight embrace.

Castiel stared at his own wing, and Gabriel shot him a Look, _See? I told you! _

“My child," said Fate, "My beautiful daughter, I am so sorry.” 

Bris had gone stiff as a board, surprised beyond further reaction.

Fate opened one arm and drew Direl to her as well. He went willingly, too awestruck to even consider refusing.

“My children,” she said to both of them, “My dears, I am _ so sorry.” _

Bris finally moved, startling at these words. She raised her head to look up at Fate, equally as awestruck as Direl. *You’re… sorry?* she asked.

“Of _ course!” _ Fate strained, the deepest concern welling in her eyes. “So much has happened that you did not deserve! So many _ awful— _Oh!” She took a small step back, her hands remaining firmly on each of their shoulders.

“My dear children,” she said to them, “please, please know that I did all I could to protect you. I sank so many of the demon’s ships when they came for your family. They wanted all of you, they wanted to take every one of you gathered that day, and they would have had you, but I sent the storm and the waves to batter them, to slow them, and so they only managed to capture you few. Please, know that I did all that I could, know that it tore at me so to see you suffer because I could not do more, and know, please know, that I sent aid the _ moment _I was able.”

Bris eyes darted between Fate’s as Direl continued to gape beside her. “So then… at the farm…” Bris said, “did... did _ you _send the storm what broke the bars to our cage?”

“I did, My loves, I did. I only wish I could have sent it sooner. It took so long to gather the ingredients, the right winds and the right rains, the perfect floods, the biggest trees. I am so sorry I could not get you out sooner, I am so, so sorry.”

“An’... An’ everythin’ after…” Bris stared up into Fate's radiant face, her lips parting on a breath, *You brought me Sam.*

Off to the side, watching this exchange, Bris couldn’t see how Sam’s heart broke in his eyes.

Fate’s warm smile returned with a small shake of her head. “No, sweet child, I did not do that. You did that for yourself.” Her smile turned wry. “And I must say, I am so proud of you.”

“Proud?” Bris drew back. “Of me? But I— I threw you away. I _ forsook _you, I—”

_ “Shh, shh, _My dear… My dear, have no fear.” She raised a hand to Bris’s head, gently stroking over her rippling hair. “You were never meant to be a mindless tool of Our designs, only to receive Our gentle nudges, should you so choose.” 

“But— But our Purpose—” stammered Bris.

“Is not to blindly follow,” Fate answered with finality. “You were not made to serve, you were _ told, _ by those who would see your lives placed on a track. If you have a Purpose, it is to help where you can, but you were _never_ meant to forget yourselves in pursuit of that. My child, _My children,_ you are so much _ more _than what you can do for others, so to watch you take the reins of your life so firmly into your own hands? Oh, it has warmed Me so, and yes, I am proud.” 

Bris’s chest rose with a soft intake of breath. She found herself blinking, trying to clear suddenly watery eyes.

“But... the _flood_ brought Sam and the boys to our lake,” said Direl, finally finding his voice again. “Was that an accident?”

“Ah, My ever-inquisitive son,” said Fate with fondness. “The answer is yes. And no. My Sisters and I did use the aftermath of My storm to send Dean to Bris, nudging Bris to hide her coat in those particular woods, nudging Dean to find it. But it was Dean’s choice to pick up the coat, and it was also his choice not to accept Bris’s offer. After that, we had no hand in your dealings. It was _ you, _ My daughter, who decided to ask for their help, and ultimately _ you _who decided to pursue Sam.”

“The ‘_aftermath’ _ of your storm?” Castiel cut in. “You released countless violent monsters into the waterways!”

Fate raised her gaze, looking over the selkies heads at Castiel. “Actions will always have consequences,” she said. “But I ask you, brother, is inaction not worse?”

Bris tensed at that, and shrank minutely back.

“Twenty people died by those monsters!” said Castiel, stepping forward. Gabriel grabbed his shoulder to physically hold him back.

“Yes... well…" hemmed Fate, clearly uneasy. "My youngest Sister... she… _ tempers _my actions.”

“‘Tempers’? So you did this knowing the price? You did this knowing that those people would die, that those _ children _would die—!”

“_Castiel—” _started Gabriel.

“Children were dying either way,” said Fate, her voice hard and guarded as stone.

The harshness bled from Castiel's stance, his eyes drooping sad and pained. He shook his head slightly, “Was there no other way?” 

“Of course there was,” said Fate. “An near-infinite range of possibility based on the actions of millions, both Human and Divine. I did what I _ could, _ directing where I was able; for the World is a great river, and I am allowed but to drop pebbles into its raging water. I am not all-powerful, nor do I claim to be. I am limited by the Will of My Creators, as are we all.”

“Have you not appeared before us now?" asked Castiel. "Are you not shifting the river at this very moment?”

“Seriously, Cas—” said Sam.

“This is an extraordinary circumstance,” said Fate, her voice weighty with intention, “and so requires extraordinary intervention.”

That caused a pause in conversation, filled only with the hum of the bunker.

“What— What’d’ye mean?” asked Direl.

“You are planning to travel between Universes,” said Fate, “and you _ must not _ go.”

Sam stepped forward, his hand returning to his gun, “You can’t stop me from going to save my brother—”

_ *Very powerful! No defenses!* _ reminded Gabriel, too far away to reach out and stop Sam.

“You’re right, I can’t,” said Fate to Sam. “But I still beg you to hear my plea.”

Sam paused, his hand twitching over his holster, his hard eyes fixed firmly on Fate. 

Then he stepped back to his previous place, though he rested his hand on his weapon.

“Thank you,” said Fate. She moved back from Bris and Direl now, and drew herself up, standing impossibly more poised than before, and brought her hands together to rest in front of her. “I have told you that I am the Eldest of My Sisters. As such, My duty is meant to entail… the _ grander _scale. The shifting of continents, the paths of the stars, the rise and fall of power between Realms. My younger Sister deals with more specific matters, climates and empires and the shifts of Life, and My youngest Sister, the most powerful of us all, claims the domain of the minutia, the twists and turns of the everyday.”

Sam frowned at this. “But when you showed up, you said that we felt you all the time.”

“Yes, well…” Fate’s stance tightened, uneasy again. “I must admit that I… _ dabble. _Just slightly. In those more specific domains.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You mess with their work?”

“I do,” Fate admitted, her shoulders drooping with resignation. “It irritates Them to no end, but— Well, truth be told I challenge any of you to watch magma push the Earth’s crust for an eon without growing tired of it all.”

She looked to Gabriel at this, causing the others to face him, too. 

He gave a shrug and a reluctant nod. “Compared to all this? Yeah, it's _ really _dull.”

“Over the ages, My interest has been drawn to this area or that,” Fate continued. “But as of late, I have been drawn here, to you, Sam, and to your brother, and to the family that has grown around you.”

“What, us? Specifically?” asked Sam.

“Oh, yes, most certainly,” Fate assured him. “You and your brother had destinies set in _ stone, _ destinies that My younger Sisters crafted alongside the Angels for _ millennia_. It was _ ages _ of effort: moving people, starting wars, styling whole religions— and all of it, _all _of it, was undone, by two tiny decisions:” Her smile returned in full as she looked upon Sam. “Your brother decided to seek you out, and _ you _decided to stay with him.”

Sam blinked at her, stunned. 

_“That?”_ he asked. “_That’s _what averted the Apocalypse?”

“Oh yeah,” answered Gabriel, “you two messed up the schedule by like, thirteen years. Freakin’ hilarious to watch from the sidelines. Harrowing, but hilarious.”

“In the shortest terms, you and your brother strengthened each other to fight against the Will of Heaven,” said Fate. “If Dean had not sought you out, you would have indeed gone on to law school, Sam. You would have graduated, and you would have been most successful. But you would have been alone, your whole life poured into your work, and with no joy in your life to show for all your efforts; no partner, no friends, no family, your life would have been hollow and empty. And if you had not chosen to stay with Dean, he would have been alone as well, never finding your father who would have died at the hand of Prince Azazel, ending up a wanted man himself, always on the run from misunderstandings stemming from his hunts, never able to stop or settle or make any connection. Should the Archangels Michael and Lucifer had found you two then... the both of you would have been _ eager _to tell them ‘yes’.”

“‘No... partner’?” Sam said slowly. He looked up at Fate. “Does that mean… Jess…?”

“Would still have been taken, as was her fate, murdered in your home by a demon in disguise. A _ disgusting _waste of her precious life,” said Fate, nearly snarling at the very idea.

“Oh…” Sam said. “I… I see…” 

The group waited patiently, giving Sam a moment. 

He sniffed, wiping at his eye. “Well, um…” he tried. “Well— wait. If... If everything was still on track when Dean got me from Stanford…then…" Sam looked up at Fate. "Then what was the demon blood for? Azazel and his 'Special Children', what were we for?”

Fate pressed her lips tightly together. “Azazel was a terrible, twisted creature, who hurt many simply because he could. His violence needed no 'reason', he was a monster unfettered.”

Sam raised his chin sharply at this, shock mixing with a type of stoic validation on his face.

“I wasn’t aware of any of this,” said Castiel with a frown. “These original plans for the Apocalypse, I don’t remember any of it.”

Sam, Bris, and Gabriel looked at Castiel in confusion. Direl did too, for a moment, but then his expression shifted to a terrible pity.

“Heaven’s plans were many and complicated,” Fate said to Castiel with her own pitying gaze. “But _ you _undid all of those plans,” she said to Sam. “Time and again, you and your brother shirked Heaven’s intricate machinations. And it was in watching that, in watching two men thwart the momentum of Ages, that I must admit I became quite interested in you. And since then I have been watching you, and indeed, helping you here and there, placing my finger on the scales of a close call or two. 

“But now, you plan to enter another Universe, and if you do, your trip will be prolonged. It will not be the few hours of your first journey, nor the few days of your second. You will be there for weeks at the least, and if you go, I will be completely unable to help you. I am already limited in this world, but there, I cannot reach you at all. You will be completely without My protection.”

They all listened to her, their expressions turning more and more dire as she went on.

But even with this warning, when Fate finished, Sam could only shake his head.

“I can’t,” he said to her. “I can’t _ not _go.”

“I’m goin’, too,” said Bris in a heartbeat, though she wouldn’t meet Fate’s eyes.

Gabriel looked over at both Sam and Bris. “Yeah, me, too,” he said.

Castiel looked around at them all. “Well, this changes nothing for me,” he said. “Of course I'm going.”

Direl looked down at the floor, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Hey... it’s alright,” said Sam. “It’s okay if you want to stay.”

Direl worried his bottom lip. “I… See, it’s only… that I oughta…”

“Really,” Sam assured him, “it’s okay.”

Direl nodded, but his furtive glances betrayed his disappointed shame.

Fate nodded at the group. “I understand,” she said, her whole demeanor now notably fallen. “I did not expect to change all of your minds with this information. Having watched you all this long, I suppose I could only expect such a response. But you had to know the full situation, so that you could make this choice.”

“Thank you for that,” said Sam. “Really, thank you. And thank you for… everything else, I guess.”

“Oh, but, Sam, I should be thanking you,” said Fate. “It was you who tolled the final death knells of the Apocalypse, after all. You saved nearly a quarter of Humanity from awful, fiery death, and the rest from prolonged suffering at its hands. And of course,” she replaced her hands on the shoulders of Bris and Direl, “I must thank you for rescuing and aiding My children. _ Your _choices and actions saved them once and for all, Sam. Never forget that.” She dipped her head in a deferential bow. “I am forever grateful to you.” 

“Oh… I... You’re welcome,” said Sam, his jaw hanging open.

Fate smiled upon him, warm and fond again. Then she pulled her hands from the selkie’s shoulders, and took a step back from the group. 

Apparently realizing she was about to take her leave, Direl jumped forward.

_ “Thank you—! _ My Lady,” he burst, twitching into some sort of half-bow at the waist. “F-For yer warnin’, and yer favor. Thank you, for all you've done fer us.”

Fate’s smile returned to the gentle, kind warmth it showed when she first arrived. She leaned down to Direl, and took his face in her hands.

“My darling son,” she said to him, “My _ darling _son, you are doing so well.”

Direl's jaw dropped. *I— I am?* he whispered with disbelief.

“Yes. I know your struggles, child, and I swear to you, you have done _ well.” _

“But I— But I haven’t— I can’t even—”

“I must ask _ you _ in particular to remember what I have said today," said Fate. "You are more than what you can do for others. You have _ value _ unto yourself. You are worthy of your own happiness and contentment, and you are _ not _made to serve.”

Direl tried to speak, but his lips only trembled as his eyes welled with tears.

“I promise you, My son, you will find the happiness you seek in time. It is on its way. I only ask for your patience for a little longer.”

“A- A’course,” Direl said, “a’course, my lady, but— but how will I know?”

Fate’s smile grew just a little wider, into a knowing grin. “Perhaps I should simply say: ‘keep an eye out for red’.”

Direl’s eyes darted away from Fate’s. He squirmed in her hold.

“Speak freely, My child.”

“Well, I— don’t wanna sound ungrateful none. It’s only...”

Fate waited patiently.

“Well— I’m a simple man, ma’am, and— and I’m right certain that’s just vague enough that I’ll mess it up. Any chance ye could… maybe… make it plainer?”

Fate smiled again. “Oh, My sweet son, how you sell yourself short.” She took a hand from his cheek and smoothed his dark hair. “I will tell you when it is time, I promise it. You will know it in your heart.” She tapped his chest with a finger, and she bent down, and placed a kiss upon his forehead.

Direl positively shone with joy as she stood again, his hand reaching up to wipe away his tears. “Y-Yes, ma’am,” he choked. “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

“In the meantime…” She returned her hand to his cheek and looked down to him... almost _ sternly_. “_You _can do better.”

This apparently made sense to Direl, because he shrank from her gaze. “He’s not— _ that _bad, is he?”

She raised a silent eyebrow at him.

“Aye. I shoulda… shoulda pro’lly known that wasn’t what ye had in the cards fer me.”

“I would never insult you so.”

She removed her hands from Direl and allowed him to step back amongst the group. He wiped at his eyes again and said at large, “You know, I’m thinkin’ I’ll come along after all.”

“Uh… Alright?” said Sam. He glanced at the others, but they seemed equally perplexed by this entire exchange.

Fate sighed, a mix of pride and something like grief showing in her eyes. 

She turned to Gabriel and Castiel. “Please watch over them, brothers.”

Castiel stood up straighter, as if insulted. “Of course,” he said.

One of Fate’s eyebrows twitched up, just slightly. “_All _ of them.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, though his gaze flicked towards Direl.

Fate ignored this, instead drawing herself up to her full regal pose once again. “May the Fates bless you there as I do here, My loves,” she said to the five of them. “I already await your safe return.”

She smiled once more at them all... 

then her eyes slanted to one side. 

“Loki,” she said with a nod.

Gabriel winced. “Verthandi,” he answered in turn. 

One corner of her lips tipped up, and she winked at him.

Gabriel almost flustered a response, and Fate's smile turned wry. Then, between one blink and the next, she vanished.

Sam, Bris, and Direl immediately shot Gabriel truly incredulous Looks.

_ “What?” _ Gabriel threw back.

“We didn’t say anythin',” said Bris. 

“What, a guy can’t get around the block—?”

“Didn’t say anything,” echoed Sam as he made his way back to the library table.

With his ingredients already prepared, Sam assembled the spell quickly, reciting the accompanying incantation as he worked. He mashed the Fruit in the bowl, poured the Holy Blood over it, and— with a glance at Gabriel, which was returned with a nod— added the contents of one glowing vial of grace. Finally, with the Seal of Solomon in hand, Sam pricked his finger with a silver dagger, dripped his blood into the bowl to direct the spell to the dimension they wanted, and said the final words. 

There was a **crack **of something splitting open, a rush of air from one side of the library to the other, a great flash of light that momentarily blinded them all— 

And then, there was just a simple, gentle, hum.

They looked up from where they had covered their heads, to find a length of golden light about six feet tall, hovering before them a few inches from the floor. 

They looked up, and they saw their portal.

Bris and Direl each gasped. Castiel hardly reacted. Sam released his breath all in a rush, slumping over the table with a _ radiant _smile.

Gabriel tilted his head to one side. “...Huh.”

The others looked at him quizzically.

“Well, it’s just more… ya know… _ yonic _than I expected,” he said, tilting his head the other way.

“Yonic?” asked Bris.

“Yeah, ya know… Not… phallic.”

Sam put his palm to his face. Bris and Direl tipped their heads with Gabriel. “Huh, you’re right,” Bris said.

“Well, _ whatever _it looks like,” Sam said, leaving the table to grab the his bag from the pile, “it’s finally here, so let’s—”

“Forgetting something, Moose?”

_ “Ah—!” _ Sam leapt back, dropping his bag. “What—? _ Crowley?” _

“Oh, don’t act so surprised, Samantha, you called me,” said Crowley, who was indeed now standing between the group and the portal. He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Why does it smell like Big-Time Goddess in here?”

Sam ignored his question. “Well, when I _ called, _you didn’t exactly seem _enthusiastic_ about this.”

“Yes, well, things _ change _sometimes, Sa—”

“Mind tellin’ us what in the _ fuck _that is an’ why it’s here?” burst Bris, who alone of them had re-drawn her blade and was pointing it directly at Crowley.

Crowley rolled his eyes in dismissal— then jerked his head back in a double-take, “What— _ Mystery Bar Woman?” _

“‘Mystery Bar’—?” Bris frowned. Then recognition dawned on her face. “Mopey Not-a-Pom?”

“Oh— _Come on,_ now, ‘Sad Sawney’ was _right there.”_

“‘Sawney’?”

“I’m sorry— you guys know each other?” asked Sam.

“Evidently not, I don’t even know her name,” said Crowley.

“You first, whatever-you-are,” growled Bris.

_ “Whatever I—? _I’m the King of _ Hell! _ Well— Formerly. Twice-removed.”

Bris’s glare did not improve.

“He’s a demon,” Castiel said with exasperation. “One who is not welcome here.”

“No, I did ask him to—” started Sam.

“That ain’t no damned _demon!”_ Bris shot back at Castiel. “Look at his damned hea— I mean his— well, yes his heart! Ain’t no way that’s a _ soul _in there, smoked or not!”

Crowley raised his chin in appraisal. “You’re a selkie,” he surmised. “Fascinating... I assume you’re with culchie, then?” He pointed between Bris and Direl.

Direl shrank back from being addressed. “She’s m’ cousin,” he mumbled, then he turned to Bris. “Look now, Crowley _ is _a demon, even if he don’t much look it—”

_“Crowley?” _Bris whirled to face Direl. “'Crowley' as in—? _That_ _Crowley?”_

“Ah... there it is. I was wondering when the other shoe was coming,” Crowley said, more than a bit of nervous tension in his voice. 

Bris snapped back to face him. Pure murder in her eyes.

“Yep, definitely got it,” Crowley said as he paled.

Something twitched on Bris’s face—

“Shit, wait—” Sam stepped forward—

“Bollocks,” said Crowley.

In a flash Bris was advancing on him, stepping right around Sam’s outstretched arm and the bags on the floor, her angel blade gripped tight in her hand.

“Now— Now wait a minute, you do know that I— Hey!” He dodged as Bris swung at him. “You know that I helped get you _ out _ of that farm! Gave the boys the location— _ Gah! _I gave up where your cell was, I even offered that knife—_Ah!_ Would you cut it out! _ Oi! A little help here! _” he shouted at the others. 

“You _ murdered _my family!” she screamed, swinging at Crowley again. 

_ “Technically _ I only ordered you captured—”

“You used us fer _ parts!” _

“I use people all the time! You’re not _ special _or anything!”

Bris roared in rage. With a leap she snatched Crowley by the front of his shirts, flipped her blade in her hand, and—

_ “Bris!” _Sam shouted.

She froze, her arm poised for the killing blow.

“We need him,” Sam said, steady and clear.

Bris glared at Crowley, her face twitching as she strained not to run him through.

"You swear, Sam?" she asked lowly.

"Yes, we—"

"You swear on Dean's life?"

Sam tensed, a muscle twitching in his neck as he tried to form an answer. "We might," he finally said. "We might need him."

Bris's face screwed up vile hatred, her teeth bared as stared down the demon before her.

Then she shoved Crowley away, and lowered her blade.

Sam released a breath. “Thank y—”

“He better be worth it," Bris growled. 

Sam tossed his shoulders, with a look both grateful and imploring. “We need all the help we can get.”

“Yes, I don’t mean to blow my own trumpet,” said Crowley, regaining his composure as he straightened his waistcoat, “but I believe you’ll find I have a very particular, very useful set of skills, darling.”

“Oh don’t you _'darlin’' _me—"

“Enough!” Castiel strode forward, placing himself between Bris, Crowley, and the portal. “We have three people to rescue and no more time to waste! Sam, did you ask Crowley to come?”

“Yes,” Sam answered.

“Then he will come. We will assume he has his own selfish motivations and act accordingly.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Making me feel part of the team, already, Feathers.”

Castiel soundly ignored him. "We've had too many delays already. I refuse to accept any more." He snatched his bag up from the pile, and turned toward the glowing portal.

The little speaker in his pocket, playing almost imperceptibly low this whole time, now [jumped to life with a heavy bass](https://open.spotify.com/track/7i6r9KotUPQg3ozKKgEPIN?si=mwIogbCxSQqr-BhiLvWYdg), a small gift of a driving beat to send them off.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the portal.

“Let's bring our family home.”

He dropped his angel blade from his sleeve and stepped forward. There was a flash of golden light, a displacement of the air, and Castiel was gone.

*_Yeesh,_ what a drama queen,* side-mouthed Crowley.

“Castiel—! _ Ugh!” _ Gabriel jogged after him, grumbling under his breath right up until he flashed through. 

Direl hurriedly moved forward for his own bag, and stepped through the portal as well.

Sam glanced between the portal and Bris. “You wanna go next?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you alone with that thing fer a second,” she growled, glaring at Crowley.

Crowley looked between Bris and Sam. _“Ohh,”_ he said, “you’re _ that _selkie aren’t you? Samantha’s _squeeze._ Well, _that_ explains a few things.” He turned his eyes to Bris. “You’re welcome. By the way.”

Bris’s entire body strained with the effort of holding herself back. _ “Fer what,” _ she spat.

“For disarming that witch, of course. _ You’re welcome. _ Oh yes, speaking of...” Crowley reached into his coat.

Bris threw up her blade-arm—

_ “Relax, _ Boudica,” said Crowley, and pulled a thick, messy book bound with a leather strap from his inner pocket. He offered it to Sam. 

Sam eyed it cautiously. “What is that?”

“The spellbook of our favorite, late, attempted mass-murderer. Obviously. Use your context-clues,” said Crowley. “I took this book off the witch, thus cutting her power in half and giving your bird here the opportunity she needed to take her down. Again: _ you’re welcome. _”

Bris stared at the book with pure hate in her eyes.

“And you just kept it?” asked Sam accusingly.

“Of course I did, I wouldn’t just _ give up _ something so powerful.” He held it out further to Sam. “Not lightly anyway. Consider it a peace offering. A gesture of trust.”

Sam looked back to Crowley. “Is Rowena alright with you giving me this?”

Crowley’s expression soured. “I’d have to be able to _ find _Mother for her to give her opinion on the matter. Not that she was interested before, said this spellbook was ‘below her level’.”

Sam still hesitated.

“Look, take it or don’t, but don’t come whining to me when there’s a spell in there you could have used to turn the tide in your favor or something. The record _ will _show that I tried.”

Sam pressed his lips together, looking once more between Crowley and the book...

Then he reached out and took it.

Bris tensed, her face twitching in an aborted snarl. But she said nothing.

“Well then, not that I don’t want to dwell on such a snuggly, heartfelt moment, but shall we get this show on the road?” Crowley turned from them and moved toward the portal, pausing as he waited for Sam and Bris to pick up their duffels. 

Sam hurried to gather the leftover ingredients of the spell and pick up the papers with the translations, shoving them haphazardly into his bag. He half-jogged back, but as he stepped up to the glowing light, he paused, looking over at Crowley.

“What changed your mind?” Sam asked him. “You didn’t seem too keen to help Dean when I called you before.”

Crowley drew in a breath and sighed, his shoulders lifting and falling as he placed his hands in his pockets. “Look. Moose. I hate that man as much as his next ex, but if _ anyone _is going to kidnap him and crush his immortal soul, it’ll be me.”

“His ‘ex’?” Sam blurted.

Crowley tipped his head toward Sam with a smirk. “Oh, dear Samantha, are you really so naive?”

Sam blinked at him. “I am... seriously reconsidering asking you to come along.”

“Too late, you’ve got me,” said Crowley, and he stepped forward into the portal. 

Sam shut his eyes with a sigh.

He turned to Bris, who was throwing her bag onto her shoulder, her movements harsh and rough.

“Hey...” Sam started.

But Bris moved right past him, not saying a word, and stepped straight into the portal.

Sam blinked after her, brow furrowed and eyes wide. Then he shook himself out of it, shoulders dropping with a sigh.

He shouldered his bag and turned around, looking out at the bunker one last time.

“We’ll be right back,” he said to no one in particular. 

Then he, too, stepped on through the portal. 

Somewhere, a surprisingly short distance off, a certain redheaded witch had the absurd urge to scoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again, my friends! Never fear, Act Two is already in the works, though this time I know better than to promise a fast turnaround on it. Hopefully I will see you again soon as we join everyone in the Apocalypse dimension!
> 
> In the meantime, I would just love to know any thoughts you might have, on the story, the series, anything. I am an author who welcomes concrit: what you liked, what you didnt, what may have bored you or gave you feels or what you maybe wish I'd left out, it helps me direct the story to places readers want it to go. See, I've got the basic roadmap of where this plot goes, and I know how the biggest plot arcs (*cough* destiel) end, but if you're sitting there going "hot damn, woman, we get it with the angst already!" or "oh my goodness, slow down, I cant follow the action" or "I have to know what's up with [character/situation/thing that was mentioned once and hasn't been seen again]!" something like that, it's totally cool to tell me, I personally welcome that kind of feedback, especially on this series, I'm looking to improve my skills wherever possible.  
(If you've maybe wondered _how_ to leave concrit when authors ask for it, first of all, I thank you for the mental energy you are offering by doing that, and second, [here is a link ](https://bettsfic.tumblr.com/post/126888068097/i-really-liked-your-post-about-leaving-ao3) and [here is another, more in-depth one](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/172293948523/why-cant-i-say-this-context-concrit-and) with advice on that.)  
Again, I hope to be back soon, my dears, thank you so much for reading, it fills my heart with such joy just to watch that hit count rising and know that you're here. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update!! An actual update!! Ah!!!  
Not the full Act Two, I'm afraid, but it is two whole chapters! I'd rather post a whole chunk at once, but-- well, honestly, I just need to get these chapters out there so I can stop nit-picking them and can focus on moving the story onward from here.  
I swear, I know how this Act goes. I know the major plot points and I _know_ how it ends. And I know y'all are gonna love it! But!! It's proving insanely difficult to get the damn thing _out of my head!_ Grr! And add to that my job, which has me working during this freaking pandemic, and it's a very physical job, so I come home tired, and then the weekend ends up being me simply recovering, and then *poof* another week has gone by without any writing. :(  
So I offer to you these two chapters to at least let you know that I have not abandoned this story. Thank you for sticking around, thank you for keeping an eye on this story, thank you for reading, thank you, thank you, thank you, and I hope you enjoy! <3 <3 <3

# Act Two

In a clearing in a woodland that, once upon a time, would have been described as spanning seven American States, a dusting of snow covers miles upon miles of hilly pine trees. It is March, nearly April, and yet it is the depth of winter, cold and dark and bleak, even though by all accounts, the season should have been lifting by now.

The white blanket across the forest is thicker here in the clearing, almost an inch and nearly pristine, smooth across the scattered needles but for the footprints of the area's scant life passing through: two Chickadees, hopping and flitting about, their tracks splitting and meeting as they follow each other in circles in search of scattered seed; a deer, plodding slowly by, its nose to the snow in search of anything to eat at all; a rabbit, moving carefully, in search of a place to rest; a coyote, loping easily, in search of the rabbit; and, right through the middle, one housecat, a long way from home, wandering lands its late family would never have wanted it to see.

Above it all, the sky rolls by, the clouds as slow and low and gray as ever.

It is dark in these woods, just after midnight. It is cold, just above freezing. The wind blows, sharp, biting, and steady.

Then it dies.

The branches cease swaying, the grasses stop rustling.

And all is still.

All is quiet.

Until it isn’t.

With a soft shearing noise like paper torn in an empty room, a strip of golden light shoots up from the ground. It grows in seconds, flaring like a torch from a scant few inches to several feet tall. With its appearance reality is rent, space-time distorted, expanding in a burst and erasing all disturbances in the snow.

And then.

Just like that.

The light, too, is still. 

It hums faintly. But does not move. 

It stays this way for a long time. Humming. Floating.

Waiting.

Then all at once the air _cracks_ and the light _flashes_ and there is the thump of something landing heavy on the ground, two thumps, of feet hitting dirt. And then there is a man— white-skinned with dark, messy hair and a long tan overcoat— walking brusquely across the soft, snowy earth. 

He emerges from the light, tall and armed and deceptively stoic, his sharp, bright eyes already searching the woods around him. He appears, and the once-silent clearing is suddenly full, stuffed, ready to burst at the seams from the wide, heavy, driving beat of— 

..._“Seven Nation Army,” _of all things.

——— 

Castiel marched to the middle of the clearing and immediately spun around, searching his surroundings with his angel blade drawn. He looked all around, between the trees, behind the portal, even above.

All was clear.

He relaxed. Minutely.

Castiel rose from his ready stance and moved to one side. The others should be here any moment, having been right behind him when he left the bunker.

Any moment.

Any moment now.

Well. Perhaps— Now that Castiel thought about it he did leave a _bit_ hasti—

Wait

Castiel spun, searching the trees again with his blade raised.

Wait

What— 

He turned again, scanning for even the slightest movement.

What is that

What is it

What is that

Eyes flying, never pausing, he searched the trees again.

But there was nothing.

He tried extending his awareness. If something was concealed nearby, he should pick up on it.

What is it

What is this

Still, nothing. 

He searched again, turning and turning.

Where is it

What is it

It was so familiar.

What is it

What is it

Familiar and… warm.

What is this

Where is it

What is it

Small and burning, turbulent and churning, its very presence made him warm. Warm and calm.

And it was spreading.

It was so familiar. So, so _familiar. _Almost like— Almost like— 

Wait

He spun again,

Is that—

he spun, searching,_  
_

Is that— 

for the source of this feeling—

Is this—

—like a hand reaching out—

Is this— 

—like a soft, careful touch—

Is it— 

—a gentle touch— 

Is it— 

—the softest hold—

_ Is it— _

—and then—

—the slightest—

_ pull. _

Castiel gasped.

It _is! _

Castiel gasped and his hand went to his chest_._ _  
_

It is! It is!

It's back! It’s _back! _

His hand pressed against his chest—

It’s back! It’s back!

—pushing, _grasping— _

There it is, it's back! It's back, it's back, _ it's back—! _

The speaker in Castiel’s pocket abruptly switched songs, from its current heavy beat to something else, something slower, yet sharper at the same time. But Castiel didn’t notice, didn’t even hear it. He _ couldn't. _Because at that same moment, hitting him all at once, _ slamming _ into him like a wave from the ocean, all of his heart was _ crying out— _

“Castiel? _ Cassy!” _

The shout came from somewhere behind him. Hands gripped at his shoulders, jostling him, and Castiel realized he'd fallen to his knees. 

“Cassy," someone pleaded, "Cassy, what’s happening? Hey— _ Hey! _Talk to me, what h—”

“I can feel him,” Castiel answered, his eyes wide as they flitted across the distance, searching, still _ searching— _ “I can feel him... I can _ feel _him, he’s alive!”

“Who—? What? Cassy—”

Behind them, there was another flash and another thump of feet hitting the ground. 

_“Jaysus _ is it cold! Gonna have to put on m’ damned coat just fer the damned blubber! _F__eckin' _hell, I swear on my— Oh, _ oi!” _ A second person ran over, sliding in next to the first. “Oi, Gabriel, what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong with him? What's— ...Is that Petty?”

Castiel turned toward the second person, his gaze unseeing and a steady, toothy grin spreading wide on his face.

“It’s _ Dean_.” 

That feeling built inside of Castiel, a warmth he’d feared he would never know again. It grew and _grew,_ filling him with such _joy _and _sorrow _and _desperate aching—_ It built. It built and it _built_ and it _surged_ and it—

Vanished.

“What...?”

It vanished.

“No!” Castiel lunged out at nothing, nearly falling forward if not for Gabriel and Direl catching him. “No! _ No!” _

Nothing

"No…"

There was nothing

_ "No…" _

Nothing

Nothing

  
  


Nothing

  
  


“No, _no, please! Please—!”_

“Cassy, what happened? Cast—!”

“It's _gone!”_ Castiel cried, grabbing onto Gabriel. “I could feel him! Please, he was _ there, _I could feel him and now—!”

“Cassy, hey— _Hey._ Maybe it was something else. We just hopped a whole dimension—”

_ “It was him! _ I know it! I _ felt _it—!”

“Okay, alright! Just—!”

Two more flashes from the portal, and with a short delay, a third. Someone gave a shout, someone else shouted back, and then somebody made a move and the clearing _ exploded, _a cacophony of _voices_ and _ questions _ and _everyone_ _moving__— _

“What’d ye do to him, demon!” “Do? _I _ didn’t do anything! Honestly, are you going to be like this the entire time we—?” “Cas? Cas! What happened? Gabriel, what—” “Sam— I don’t know— I came through and he just dropped and I—” "Get yer curses off a' him!" "_What_ curses! I didn't _do_ anything!" "Did he say anything?" "Yeah, a bunch of gobbledygook about _feelings_ and—" “Hey, c’mon now, give him some space, there—” “No, Direl, don’t—!”

_ “STOP!” _

They all staggered, knocked back by a burstwave from Castiel. 

“Please…” he fell forward to his hands. “Please, everyone, _stop…”_

They group went quiet. 

_ Blessedly _ quiet. 

Then, slowly, someone walked toward him, their feet crunching in the disturbed snow. They knelt beside him, careful and calm, and placed a gentle hand upon his back.

“Are you okay?” asked Sam.

“No,” said Castiel.

“What happened?” asked Sam.

“Dean,” said Castiel, and the hand on his back tensed. “I felt him, he was here. He was _ here, _ Sam, I _ know _it, I—!”

“Hey, hey, hey...” Sam soothed. “You felt him. Okay. Then what happened.”

Castiel tried. He tried to answer. The words were there, and he tried to say them but they were all jumbled up, colliding together, piling up, unable to get out—

Sam shifted his hand, rubbing in large, slow circles on his back. The movement, just the sensation of it... somehow, it pulled Castiel up, just a bit, from a dark place he hadn’t even realized he’d sunk into. 

He nodded his head, the action feeling somehow slowed. He moved to sit up, and Sam kept that hand on his back the whole way. 

“I felt him,” Castiel answered. “I felt Dean. Here. But then… then he vanished. He was there, I felt it, and then... he was just...”

Gone.

Sam released a breath through his nose, his eyes falling shut in an expression Castiel had no energy to decipher. “Okay," said Sam. "Okay, I believe you. That you felt his— his, um— Him.” 

“I did," Castiel said. "I did, I did, but I can’t feel him now! I can’t—!” 

"Hey, I know, man, I know," said Sam, resuming the movement of his hand, pulling Castiel back just a little bit more.

Castiel's shoulders slumped, and he allowed his whole awareness to be pulled to just that sensation... slow and calm... immediate and real...

“Are you able to get up?” Sam asked, jarring Castiel. “Sorry to rush you, but— we might not be safe here.”

Castiel sighed. He nodded again, and this time it nearly felt normal. “Yes, of course,” he answered. 

Because of course they weren’t safe. They were in unfamiliar territory, an inexperienced unit on exposed terrain, stationed right beside what was probably a veritable beacon of universe-bending magic. They absolutely needed to move. So Castiel gathered himself as best as he could, and with Sam’s help, he stood, though he still wobbled slightly on his feet.

“Low on batteries already, Feathers?” came Crowley’s taunting voice.

“Shut it, ye smarmy bastard,” snapped Bris.

Castiel glanced in the direction of their voices, taking stock of the group as he did. Sam was standing beside him, bracing and steady. Gabriel and Direl were a bit further off, watching him and Sam. Behind them the portal had evidently closed— thank goodness— but where it had been, as if they’d only gotten a few steps from it, Bris was holding Crowley at knifepoint. The clearing was thick with the group’s collective worry and the lash of Bris's anger, all of it nearly overwhelming Castiel by itself, never mind his own concerns.

Crowley crinkled his nose. “You could call off your attack dog any time now, you know,” he threw at Sam. 

Bris bared her teeth at him.

Sam didn’t answer, either ignoring Crowley or truly focused on holding Castiel up. Either way, Castiel decided to relieve him of that burden and stepped away. His legs were still shaky, but for whatever reason it was suddenly very important to him that he didn’t allow it to show. 

Sam allowed him to go, apparently satisfied with Castiel's state. Then, in true Winchester fashion, he immediately took charge of the situation.

“Alright, so we need to move,” he said, addressing the rest of the group. “Anybody feel anything else?”

The others looked around at the surrounding forest. After a moment, they each shook their heads, though Gabriel was frowning deeply. 

“Good,” said Sam with a nod. “Well, we need a direction to head, so... Cas.” Sam turned to him. “You felt Dean. So maybe… maybe Michael still has him. Maybe Dean's still in there and Michael’s just... _ blocking _him someh—”

“He can't do that,” Castiel said, shaking his head vehemently. “He can't do that. The soul inside an angel’s vessel, you can’t— you can't simply suppress it. It’s there, awake, just... unable to act upon its own body; unless it somehow wrests back control and the angel is ejected, of course. You’d have to... _ trick _the soul into true dormancy if you even wanted to—”

“Jesus, Cas, alright, I remember.”

Castiel drew back. “Oh. Um… Apologies.”

“It's— fine,” said Sam. “Besides, it’s, um... it’s a bit different. With an archangel. Than… Than with a regular one.”

Castiel's stomach churned as he remembered Sam's many, awful histories. "Oh."

“And, _this_ is a whole new universe," Gabriel jumped in, picking up a handful of snow, "could be a whole new set of rules." 

He held out the snow, scrutinizing it. Then he lifted his other hand, snapped his fingers, and the snow changed into— 

A lumpy gray rock. 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, see, I was going for a hotdog there.”

“Shit,” spat Sam.

“Looks like it was a good idea to bring me along after all,” Crowley sneered at Bris.

“I swears I am _ this _close to—”

“So you think _ your _powers still work?” Sam said to Crowley.

_“Tch. _Of course they do! Here.” 

He swiped some snow off a low-hanging branch, snapped his own fingers, and found himself holding— 

A cluster of yellow carnations. 

Crowley stared at them. “...If I told you I wasn’t also trying for a hotdog, would you believe me?”

Sam swore harshly again. “Alright,” he huffed. “Alright, we can work with this. We can work with this! We’ll just... figure it out. Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Forget the Michael thing. Can you tell what direction Dean's... _ feeling, _ was coming from? Maybe we can head towards it.”

Castiel’s heart dropped. “It was so quick… I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“Hey-hey-hey, it's okay,” Sam assured him. “Really. I didn’t expect us to get anything like that anyway, just had to ask." He looked off into the forest, eventually pointing toward the thickest patch of trees. “Come on, everyone, let’s at least find some shelter. I brought all the stuff for tracking spells, not that they’ll work on Jack, but if Mom’s here she and Dean might—”

_ “Oi, Sam!_ The fuck is that?”

They all spun at Direl’s shout, following his arm pointing up at the sky. 

Streaking like meteors across the clouds were ten— _ ten— _ billowing trails of smoke. They were gray and huge, _ crackling _with energy— 

And headed right for them. 

“Shit, what are—?” started Sam.

_ “Run!” _shouted Castiel, grabbing Sam’s arm and taking off into the forest.

He heard the others follow after them, feet pounding and duffels thumping on their backs. Good, as long as they were running— they had to run— legs still weak but mind suddenly strung taught, Castiel _knew_ they had to run. This universe’s Bobby had told him about these beings, about how powerful they were, how _ ruthless_, and with his and Gabriel’s grace still low—

There was a great **thud ** into the soft earth, shaking the ground beneath their feet, followed by the sound of soil and snow raining back down through the trees. Castiel pushed himself faster, pulling Sam with him, but he heard another **thud**, then **another**, and **another**, and— 

Something flew past Castiel’s head, landing firmly in the trunk of a tree.

A blade.

Castiel cut left, dragging Sam along. They had to get away, they _ had _to get—

_ “Fuck!” _

Sam stopped in his tracks, wrenching his arm from Castiel’s grasp. “Bris?” He rocketed back toward the shout, feet kicking brown soil up through the white snow.

“_Sam—!” _Castiel called, and pivoted to follow him.

Within seconds the two of them burst into a fray. People dressed in military fatigues were dashing back and forth, shouting, screaming— They were attacking scattered targets, three targets, as Castiel saw. Direl and Gabriel were fighting a group of them, standing back to back, dodging knives left and right; Crowley was blinking in and around the trees, cursing as he tried and failed to use his demonic magic, being cursed at as he evaded the enemy’s blows; and Bris was off at the edge, fighting two of them on her own, one already dead on the ground at her feet. There was a cut on her left arm, bleeding under her jacket, staining the snow red as she leapt and ducked from her attackers.

“Nice of you to show!” Crowley rasped as he blinked into existence beside them. “The hell are these things?”

“Angels!” answered Castiel.

“_Angels? _ Are you bloody sure about—?”

Something moved behind Castiel

Something he could feel. Something… _ ugly _

He spun, reaching out on reflex and slamming his hand to the forehead of an angel that had tried to sneak up behind him. Before he could even think, he loosed his power, sending it straight through the vessel into the thing that it harbored. He threaded it through every vein and bone of this body, wrapping it around every last wisp of the awful occupant inside. 

The angel screamed, bright light pouring out of its face, and in only a second it was over. The angel fell silent and it dropped to the ground, its eyes and mouth and nose burnt out.

Castiel looked down at his hand. 

“What—” started Crowley, but another angel leapt at him and he blinked out again.

Sam whipped out a blade and stabbed that angel as it was lunging, left exposed as Crowley fled. The angel crackled with energy, convulsing on his weapon, then collapsed to the ground, dead.

“Angel blades still work,” Sam announced, and took off toward Bris.

His movement caught the attention of the two other angels that had been chasing Crowley. They turned toward him, but as they did, they saw where he had come from, and stopped in their tracks.

“Castiel?” one of them said. “But—”

Crowley appeared behind that angel and stabbed it in the back, with an angel blade he _apparently_ had. The other angel spun to attack him in return— 

Castiel flipped his blade and threw it, landing it square in the angel’s skull. It crackled and convulsed with its own silent scream, and also fell to the ground.

Crowley looked up from the body. _ “Danke sehr,” _he said.

Castiel frowned at him, puzzled.

“What, I can’t offer a little gratitude?” snarked Crowley.

“Was that gratitude? I’ve never had a vessel who spoke that language.”

Crowley rolled his eyes high and blinked back into the fight.

Sam had reached Bris by this point, and Castiel watched as an attacking angel threw out a hand, knocking Sam off his feet. Castiel was about to run to his aid when Bris spun off another angel and caught the first one in the side, causing it to whirl on her instead. Sam in turn leapt back to his feet and whipped out his gun from its holster, shooting the angel in the shoulder. Of course the simple bullet wasn't enough to kill it, but _ was _enough to slow it down while Bris took advantage of the opening. She ran it through, and the angel dropped dead.

Satisfied they were fine, Castiel flipped his attention to Gabriel and Direl. 

They were truly harried. Three angels leapt around them, jabbing with their own blades and searching for an opening, kept at bay primarily by Gabriel's efforts. 

Although… 

As Castiel watched, he came to realize the angels were making attempts on Direl... but not on Gabriel. 

Castiel ran toward them, retrieving his blade from the dead angel and immediately heading for the first live one he could reach. It seemed to sense he was coming, spinning to engage him immediately. 

The angel was fast, just like Bobby said, dodging Castiel’s attacks, attacking Castiel in turn. They leapt around each other, circling and striking lightning-quick.

And yet...

Castiel found himself easily able to hold his own. The way Bobby had spoken about them, he had expected so much worse from these Beings. But fighting these angels... really it was more like fighting— 

_ “Agh!” _

The angel ducked under Castiel’s extended hand, swiping at him with a blade slightly longer than his own. But fortunately it only caught Castiel in the stomach, just grazing his skin. He ignored the sting of it and adjusted his tactics. 

He feinted back, drawing his opponent forward. They lunged— just as Castiel intended— and he cut to one side. Then, he swung himself around, brought down his arm, and buried his blade in the angel’s back. It screamed, crackled, and fell to the ground.

The other two angels heard the scream and dropped back from the fight. They paused, assessing the new threat, and exchanged a glance. 

One angel planted itself and raised a hand. As it did, Castiel felt some sort of power brush over him, the same ugliness he'd felt in the other angel. From the feel of it, he expected it to brush right by him, like the power of the Fae or an underpowered witch, but in an instant his feet were like mountains, solidly weighted as though one with the ground. Beside him, he heard Direl cry out, apparently also affected.

Then the second angel lunged and in a blink it was almost upon Direl, its blade aimed straight at his heart. Castiel threw up his hand, intending to knock the angel over— 

Crowley appeared right between the angel and Castiel, catching a portion of Castiel's focus just as he loosed his intention. The power shoved Crowley along with the angel, he shouted, his arms flying out and his blade— 

_ “Agh!” _

—slashing Direl across the middle.

Crowley blinked out again as Direl doubled over, clutching at his abdomen. Castiel used the moment to throw his blade at the angel now sprawled out on the ground, hitting it in the back for another kill. At the same time, Gabriel threw his hand out at their last remaining angel. It jolted in place, pitching precariously as its muscles locked up. 

"Hah! _ Finally," _ Gabriel shouted in triumph, his powers evidently working as intended. He clenched his fist and dropped it down, bringing the angel to its knees, its arms solidly restrained at its sides. 

Castiel heard the sound of someone struggling for breath behind him, and spun just in time to see the final angel fall, having been run through the stomach by Bris. A short distance away, Sam was massaging his throat, seeming to be catching his breath from an attack of suffocation by that angel.

The last surviving angel, held by Gabriel, seemed to realize now that it was alone. It ceased struggling against the force that held it, and for a moment, Castiel assumed it was surrendering. But then its physical form wavered, its body beginning to dissolve into smoke— 

Crowley appeared behind it, snatching up the blade still clutched in the angel’s hand. He grabbed it by the back of the collar and lifted his own blade to its throat. “What’s the hurry? Get comfortable, now! Stay a while.”

The angel gave a cursory lurch, but found Crowley’s grip was sure, and fell still.

*_Okay_,* rasped Sam. He coughed, clearing his throat with an annoyed grunt. _ “Ugh. _ Okay.” He turned to Bris, reaching out for her injured arm, “Are you alr—?”

“‘M fine,” she snapped, stepping out of his reach as she headed for Direl.

Direl was now on the ground, sitting with Gabriel supporting him. Both of Direl’s hands were pressed to his own stomach, shaking as his breathing visibly stuttered with pain. Bris dropped to her knees beside him, hurriedly reaching for the wound.

_"Ach, _now, calm— calm down!” he insisted. “It's only a scratch, really, I swears." 

Bris soundly ignored this, lifting one of Direl’s hands to reveal the blood underneath.

"I'd fix him right up, I would,” said Gabriel in a rush, “but I barely know what would happen if I tried to—” 

"Well, try anyhow!" Bris snapped.

"Look now, I'm grand! Really—!_ Ngk," _Direl squeezed his eyes shut. "M’_fine._ Don't much wanna be turned to a hotdog, anyways."

Castiel, watching this, retrieved his blade from the dead angel’s back. He then approached the three of them and crouched on the other side of Direl, taking a look over the exposed wound.

“I’ve first aid supplies in my bag,” said Bris, “perhaps we can bind it.”

“Is he going to be able to walk?” asked Gabriel.

“_He _ is just _ fine! _ I’m tellin’ you—!” Direl grunted in pain. “Oi, quit jostlin’ me!” 

Castiel lifted his hand over the wound.

Direl’s eyes flew wide, _"Heyyy,_ lad, hang on, now—"

Castiel extended his awareness to the laceration, just as he had with thousands of wounds before. He saw easily where the skin, the fatty layer, and a small amount of muscle was split; fortunate, a relatively shallow wound. From there it was the smallest of efforts to bind the flesh back together. Human bodies were resilient, Castiel just sped the process along. 

The others stared at him as he finished, something besides the usual gratitude in their gazes. Castiel stared back.

"...Your powers work?" Gabriel finally asked.

"Oh. Yes, they do," Castiel answered. Then more red caught his eye. "Bris. Your arm."

"What? Oh. Right, ah..." She opened the cut in her jacket sleeve and peeked at the wound. “Wha-! Aw, _ fuck— _My tat!”

Castiel saw the cut had sliced across her bicep, right through a design that looked like a triquetra linked through with a ring.

“Fuckin' _hell—!_ A hundred an’ _thirty_ years I had this an’ one _ fuckin’ _cupid comes along—!”

“Those were not Cupids,” Castiel corrected her.

“I don’ fuckin’ _care_ what they was, they fucked up my ink! Fuck... _Fuck,_ the scar on that’ll be _awful—”_

“Ah, _ excuse me!” _ Crowley jostled the angel in his grasp. “Think we have something a bit more _important_ on our hands?” 

Bris turned to look at the two of them. She stared, then apparently registered what she was seeing and sprang to her feet. Wound forgotten, furious thunder in her eyes, she stared down the angel who had attacked Direl. Held by Crowley. 

Castiel also stood, moving forward before Bris could. He recognized that look on her face, he’d seen it an untold number times on both Sam and Dean over the years, and he knew immediately that Bris should _not_ be the one to handle this angel.

Besides, Castiel was undoubtably more experienced with interrogation.

He approached Crowley and the angel, walking deliberately slow, taking stock of his target. The angel was residing in a feminine body, white-skinned and black-haired. It gritted its teeth as Castiel approached, unflinching in Crowley’s hold. Clearly an experienced Seraphim.

And yet... when Castiel reached them, stopping close to stand tall over the angel, he realized that no matter how closely he looked, he couldn’t see this angel’s face. Its true face. Its angelic one.

“Who are you?” Castiel demanded. 

The angel scoffed at him. “You never did concern yourself with underlings like me, did you? _The Great Castiel, _ too busy for us peons.”

A strange answer from any angel, much less one who didn’t even know him. 

Though clearly, this angel thought it _did_ know him. Castiel altered his strategy accordingly. 

He grabbed the angel by the front of its fatigues, jostling it in Crowley’s hold as he lifted his own blade to its heart. 

“What. Is your name,” he demanded again.

The angel strained with the effort to keep perfectly still between the two blades. “Baradiel,” they spat.

It was no name that Castiel knew. “What is your unit?”

“My... unit?”

Adjustment. “Who is your commander?”

The angel hesitated, their gaze flicking down to the bloody blade in Castiel’s hand. “Anna. I am under Anna.”

Castiel huffed. “Of course you are.”

Baradiel gave him an odd look, but didn’t respond.

Castiel noted that, and took a risk in asking his next question. “Where are we?” 

The odd look deepened, but thankfully the angel still answered. “The North Forest.”

Castiel knew no woods by that name. “Where in the North Forest?”

“The southern reaches. Near the Lakes.”

"Which lakes?"

"The large ones."

"The large—" Castiel glared at them. “And _ where _are _those__? _ What do the humans call this place?”

Baradiel narrowed their eyes at him, and Castiel knew he had strayed too far. “You speak their tongue _ and _you use their place names? What happened to you, Castiel?”

An excuse, he needed an excuse— “I am _ tired _ and _ disoriented,” _ Castiel clipped, “and I would appreciate a _clear_ answer to _ re-_orient myself, do you understand?”

Baradiel still frowned, but this appeared to soothe some of their suspicions. “We are southeast of the centerpoint of the North American continent. The latest humans who lived here insisted on calling the area ‘Wisconsin’.”

“Wisconsin. Thank you,” Castiel said honestly. “Are there any nearby towns?” he asked next. Perhaps there was a reason the portal had sent them here, still on the same continent, yet so far from Lebanon.

“Towns?” Baradiel snorted and Castiel's hope sank. “Not for a hundred leagues, if that sorry excuse for a holdout even counts.”

Castiel controlled his rebounding reaction. There was an opening here. “Yes. Of course," he offered. "That… _ ridiculous _settlement.”

Out of their whole group, only Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

Baradiel relaxed, easily taking the bait. “Yes! _ Ugh, _ those foolhardy humans. Just because they found that nephil they think they are safe! _Heh. _Short-sighted idolaters, all of them.”

Castiel’s hand tightened minutely in the angel’s jacket. “_That_ nephil? _Which_ nephil," he asked, barely controlled.

Fortunately, Baradiel looked only slightly concerned at this apparent lapse. “The one from the other world? Lucifer’s spawn? I know there are many nephilim on Earth these years, but, well, it is _ that _one.”

_ Is. _ So Jack was alive. And _ here. _

“And, help me again... What direction was that settlement in?” 

“Why do you need to kn-_a__gh!” _Castiel pressed his blade harder into the angel’s chest, piercing their clothing and nicking the skin. 

“_ I _am asking the questions. Where is the settlement?”

“Due south! I mean— A bit southwest! _A__h! _ You’ll feel the warding! Please!”

Castiel pulled his blade back, allowing the angel momentary reprieve. 

A hundred leagues to the south. So the portal had placed them nearly on top of Jack. Relatively speaking. Castiel found himself wishing he had someone to truly thank for this fortune, but as it was...

“Thank you,” he said to the angel instead, and replaced his blade over their heart. “Now... why did your squadron attack us?”

Baradiel narrowed their eyes again. “‘Why’?” 

“That is what I asked.”

“Because we were ordered to.”

“Yes. _ Why?” _

“I do not question my orders.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, suppressing an eye roll. “How did you find us?”

“What?” 

_ “How _did you—”

“I heard you! I only—” Baradiel looked around at the group. “You are angels, rogue angels carrying strange, augmented grace, you aren’t hidden in the slightest, _a__nd _ you’re harboring one of _ those—” _they nodded at Gabriel— “from the other world.”

Castiel frowned. _Angels _plural, excluding Gabriel.

“Such an assembly of power,” Baradiel continued, “did you really think you wouldn't be seen? That you wouldn't draw scrutiny? Did you really think, with a group like _this_, that the new Michael wouldn’t order you captured immediat—?”

Castiel jerked Baradiel forward, nearly cutting them with Crowley’s blade still at their neck, all plans and cautions vanished from his mind. 

_ “Where is he,” _Castiel growled.

“Who—”

“Michael! Where is he!”

“What? As though I would simply tell—!”

With a flick of Castiel’s arm, he cut the angel across its face.

The angel swore violently. “_Why_ does your blade _ hurt _so m—!” 

_ “Where is Michael!” _

"I won't—"

"Where!"

"I won't tell y—"

Castiel slashed the angel's skin again, drawing another curse. "Where is he!"

"I wo—"

_"Where!"_

"He'll only kill—!"

_"Where!"_

"I _can't—!"_

Castiel cut them again, deeper, and the angel screamed.

“Cas!” shouted someone.

“He’s in _Italy!” _the angel cried. “Eliminating a human stronghold!”

“Where in Italy?”

“I don’t know!”

_ “Where?” _

_ “I don’t kn—!” _

Castiel backhanded them with the fist that held his blade. He raised his arm, intending to cut them again— 

“Castiel!”

Castiel looked up, blade at the ready, and found Crowley staring down at him, warning and shock clear in his eyes.

“Like this one _ alive, _Feathers,” he said, “if you don’t mind.”

Castiel paused. His eyes shifted between Crowley and the angel in their collective hold, now bleeding profusely from Castiel’s attack. 

He lowered his arm. 

Still clutching the front of the angel’s uniform, Castiel shut his eyes and regrouped.

This wasn't working. Adjust.

When he opened his eyes again, he addressed Baradiel. “When will Michael return?”

“I don’t know,” the angel answered, flatly.

“_Will_ he return?”

"I don't know."

“When did he leave?”

_“I don’t know.”_

"What was he seeking?"

“I do not question my superiors!”

Castiel’s hand tightened on his blade.

“Fine,” he said, acquiescing. This angel was no further use. “One more question, then.”

Castiel leaned in closer to Baradiel, lowering his voice as he once again lifted his blade to their heart. _ “How do you know who I am?” _

Baradiel’s eyes flew wide at that. "Because—! Because—!" they stammered, the possibility of a terrible mistake finally dawning on them. “Because you are Castiel! You’re _ Castiel, _ Heaven’s best—!” Their gaze darted across Castiel’s face, and the possibility became sure. “Wait... No... No, you’re not him. You're not him, you’re someone else! You’re—!”

A rush of great wings interrupted the angel, kicking up a cloud of crystalline snow between the trees. As it settled, a voice called out across the distance, a voice so familiar, so heartening and yet so _ wrong_— 

“A _ traitor,” _it boomed. “One who is certainly not welcome here.”

Castiel spun, trusting Gabriel to cover him should Crowley allow the angel to escape. He raised his blade, ready to counter an attack— 

But none was coming. 

The newcomer just stood there, unmoving. 

He stood there, in the powdered snow, wearing only worn jeans and a t-shirt. The same clothes he’d left in. The same clothes Castiel had last seen him in. His knees were still stained with the same dusty red earth, his skin still covered in the same criss-crossing scars. 

He stood there, still as a statue, watching their group with the same cold, vicious eyes.

Michael stood there, in Dean’s body, watching them all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains blatant discussion of suicidal ideation. I realize that if you’ve read this story for this long, you probably know what kinda shit we’ve signed up for, but this is more direct and blunt than what we’ve had before, so I want to make sure. Stay safe, my friends.

  
  


He was right there. 

  
  


He was right there... _ right there _ in front of them.

  
  


_ Dean _ was _ right there. _

  
  


...And they didn’t have a plan.

  
  


Sam watched, speechless as Michael stood just yards away from them. Stood there. In Dean’s body. Staring with Dean’s eyes, wearing Dean’s clothes— 

Speaking with Dean’s voice. 

“Though to be honest,” Michael continued, “none of you are exactly _ welcome.._. Not here.” 

“Yeah, got that _ loud and clear,” _said Gabriel, stepping forward. 

Michael darted Dean's eyes straight to him. 

_ “Brother,” _ he crooned, the sound of it awful and grating in Dean’s voice. “Brother, _ Brother, _ my dear Brother... so good to _ finally _see your face.”

Gabriel twitched, with a grimace or a wince Sam didn’t know. “Can’t say the feeling is mutual,” he said.

“No?” 

“Yeah, _ ‘no’. _ Darndest thing about ambushes, they tend to put a damper on the family fun.”

Michael frowned slightly. He turned Dean’s head, ostensibly viewing the bodies of the angels strewn about them. “_Mh,” _he grunted, dismissive. “Perhaps so.”

Gabriel stepped forward again. “What do you want, Michael?”

Michael slowly raised Dean's eyes, sliding his gaze back up to Gabriel. “‘What do I want’?” he repeated.

“Yeah, why are you here? Your little _ lackey _said you were in Italy on some big important mission.”

“Oh. I was. As far as she knew.” Michael spread Dean’s hands with a shrug, “But now I’m not. Now I’m here. Speaking of trivialities with my long-lost Brother.”

“Wasn’t lost,” said Gabriel. “Knew exactly where I was.”

Michael narrowed Dean’s eyes.

He allowed his hands to relax, regarding Gabriel carefully. “Why are _ you _here, Gabriel?”

“_Pff__. _To find you, dumbass!” Gabriel stepped forward again, and Sam noticed now that he had managed to place himself in front of Bris, Direl, and Castiel. “You went and got yourself thrown into another dimension!”

“No, Gabriel. I know why _ they _ came.” Michael gestured at the rest of the group. “Why are _ you _here?”

“I just said. For you. You’re my Brother—”

“That never mattered before,” Michael spat.

Gabriel twitched again, but he did not falter. “It _ always _mattered to me.”

Michael scoffed, curling Dean’s face into a disgusted snarl. “You don’t even know what it _ means_—” He stepped toward Gabriel— 

_“Hey!”_ shouted Crowley, jostling the angel still in his grasp. “Hold it right there, Halo, or I’ll slit her throat!” 

Michael flicked Dean’s eyes to Crowley. 

Crowley stood firm.

Michael narrowed his eyes. Twisted Dean's face into a glower. 

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he lifted a hand, pointing a single finger at Crowley.

“I _ just _told you—!” Crowley cut off with a noise of surprise. “Hey—!”

Michael flicked Dean’s finger, and Crowley’s hand whipped across Baradiel’s throat. She sputtered, trying to shout but only choking around the glowing wound. Then Michael drew his hand back, and Crowley’s did the same. He thrust his fist forward and Crowley’s went, too— 

**Shhk**

—straight through Baradiel’s heart. 

She crackled and shuddered, screaming with a voice inhuman. Light burned through her eyes, her mouth— Then she stilled, and she crumpled, and she fell, dead, to the ground.

“You have _ nothing _ over me,” Michael growled low. _ “Nothing.” _

“Michael…” breathed Gabriel.

Michael scowled at him. “Angels in every Universe are built to _ fight _ and _ die _ . It is their Purpose,” he declared. “A lesson _ our _little brothers and sisters would have done better to learn.” 

Sam saw Castiel tense, guilt and defiance warring on his face.

Michael's expression shifted, then seemed to settle as he continued to look at Gabriel. “You must be here for the same reason the mortals are," he said. "For this body. That’s all that makes sense.”

“Michael, no. I’m here for—”

“Of _course,_ though... _I_ know you didn’t care for him in the slightest,” Michael tossed, suddenly and jarringly flippant. “So I _ suppose _ ... you must be here on one of _ their _behalves.” He gestured out at the rest of the group. “Now an age of evidence _ clearly _ shows that it takes the weight of the World to pull you out of your little hiding holes, so tell me, Gabriel, which one is yours? The giant, or one of the mongrels? Don’t tell me it’s the _ abomination—” _

“I’m here for _ you!” _Gabriel stepped forward again, his eyes flashing gold as he managed to block Sam now as well. “I’m here to bring you home!”

“Or maybe you’re here to atone?” said Michael, ignoring Gabriel’s outburst. “Not to me, of course, but perhaps... to one of them? Have you _wronged_ one of these mortals?”

“That isn’t—”

“Or perhaps they managed to _ bind _ you! Oh! Only you, Gabriel. Only you would manage to be _ fettered _by the likes of these—” 

_“I am fettered to no one!” _

The smile dropped from Michael's face. Gabriel glared him down.

Michael seemed to take careful stock of Gabriel. “Then why are you _with them.” _

"_They _are with _me. I _brought them to—"

"Stop. Just stop, Gabriel."

"You asked."

"Then answer."

"I am, I told you—"

"No! Tell me the _truth!_ Why do you spin these tales? Why do you always spin these _tales!_"

"Why do _you_ never listen?"

"Why are _you_ so insolent!"

"Why are _you _so difficult!"

_ "Answer me, Gabriel!" _

"You _first_ for a change, you entitled, _ insufferable—!" _

_“Enough! _Enough of your c_easeless_ _arguments!"_ Castiel shouted, pushing past Gabriel to march toward Michael, his blade now raised. “Michael, you have _ one _chance to vacate Dean before we—”

He cut off with a gasp, stumbling and ultimately halting in his tracks. He faltered, grasping at his chest, and Sam was about to dash over, to catch him before he fell—

“_Ugh,_” Michael grunted, in apparent annoyance, and shut his eyes momentarily.

Castiel abruptly stilled, steadying himself on his feet. His hand continued to grasp at his chest but now he stood, rooted to the spot, staring at Michael in… Sam could only describe it as _ anguish _.

“So _ distracting,” _ Michael grumbled. He let out a huff and raised his chin to look down his nose at Castiel. “I’ve been trying so hard to curtail these expressions. All this time with me, and yet _still_ he acts out." Michael sighed. "I do have to hand it to him, he is a strong one. Though I suppose should expect nothing less of my Vess—”

“He isn’t. _Yours,”_ gritted Castiel.

Michael raised an almost amused eyebrow. “Oh I beg to differ,” he said, waving a hand across Dean’s body, “he’s nothing _ but _mine.”

Castiel shook his head, “No, he's not—”

“You were _ there, _ Castiel, you can’t deny it. _He_ came to _ me. _ He _ gave _ himself to _ me—” _

“_Leave him, _ Michael—!”

_“Why?”_ Michael snapped, his easy mood cutting off like a switch. “So that _you all _can have him back? Why would I do that? It isn’t as though any of _you _care for him.”

“Of course we care about Dean,” said Sam, jumping on this foothold. He ignored Gabriel’s look of warning. “We miss him, so much, and we— we want him to come home.”

Michael stared at Sam for a beat, incredulous. Then burst out a laugh, shaking his head as Dean’s shoulders bounced. Gradually, he trailed off, looking back up to Sam. The grin dropped from his face. “Oh. You were serious.” 

“O-Of course,” said Sam. “Of course I was s— Of course we care.”

Michael chuckled again, lower and more subdued. “Alright," he said. "You know what? Alright. I’ll offer you a deal.” He spread Dean’s hands wide. “You can have Dean back, _all yours,_ no questions asked. If — _If — _you can tell me, over the past, _oh, _three months... how many times Dean _pleaded..._ how many _times _your brother _begged...” _Michael twisted Dean’s face into a pointed sneer, “for the blesséd release of death.”

_ “What?” _ balked Sam. “You _ sick—!” _

“_Ah-ah-ah, _ no need for insults now. Simply answer the question.”

Sam sputtered, blinking in stupor. Eventually he managed, “You— You want me to _ guess _how many times you made Dean—?”

“Oh no, no, you misunderstand,” said Michael, holding up a hand. “_ I _ haven’t caused this. _ This _ is wholly unrelated to our... _current arrangement.”_ Michael smiled entirely too wide. 

“You mean…" Sam tried. "You mean _ before... _ you?”

Michael nodded Dean’s head. “I do indeed. But understand, I don't want you to guess, I want you to know. So go on, tell me. How many times, in the past three months, has your _dearest_ brother _ wished. _ to _ die_.”

Sam’s mouth opened again, but again no sound came out. He knew what his answer was— none, _ none, _ of course, none— but the question alone was enough to throw him. What Michael was asking— Months— That Michael would even ask it— _ Months—? _ God, the very _idea—_

“Twice.”

They all spun toward the answering voice, quiet and steady from the back of the group. They all turned, incredulously, as one,

toward Bris.

And Sam… Sam stared at her.

He stared, fixated, waiting for her to turn to him, to make a signal, to move a muscle, to do _ something _to tip him off to whatever the hell her plan was here.

But her gaze would not leave Michael. 

“_Ohh, _ good try,” Michael said, his tone honestly gracious as he grinned at her. “But no. I’m afraid _ those _ were only the times that _ you _saw.”

“What?” Sam flipped back to Michael. “Times that she— What?” He turned back to Bris, “What is he talking about?”

Terrible fear was dawning on Bris’s face. “I… I don’t—”

“Oh she knows, she knows exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you, girl?” Michael drew himself up, tilting Dean’s head condescendingly to one side. “You know _exactly _what you saw. But still, she's _wrong._ Because it didn’t happen just twice, or three, or even ten times. No. _No, no, no...”_ His leer grew impossibly wider, as if reaping _joy _from telling them this. “No... It was _ constant._ All day. _E__very _ day. _All_ of the time, near the end.”

“What?” Sam looked to Bris again. She seemed to have stopped breathing. “No,” Sam said to Michael. “No, you’re lyi—”

“He pictured it _endlessly," _Michael said, Dean's voice so smooth, Dean's eyes glinting with glee. "_Over_ and _ over... _ the relief he would feel, the _ freedom, _it was _ all _ that he wanted... And he nearly did it, too. _Nearly._ He was _so close,_ Sam, _s__o close. _But he didn’t. He didn’t do it, Sam, and do you know why?” Michael locked Dean's eyes with Sam’s. “For _ you. _ So he wouldn’t inconvenience _ you.” _

“No…” Sam shook his head at him, at the Being wearing the torn, scared face of his brother. “No. You’re lying! You’re _ lying _to get us to—!”

“I AM THE_ ARCHANGEL MICHAEL! _ I DO NOT _ LIE!” _

Sam drew back, his hand twitching for the blade in his belt as the center of Michael’s eyes flashed a deep blue, as the others around him jumped to the ready— 

But Michael calmed just as quickly, seeming to pull himself back. 

“If you do not believe me,” he said, smooth as ever, “then go on, ask your selkie. She knows.”

Sam hesitated. Of course he did. But he turned. Trusting Gabriel to cover him, Sam once again turned to Bris. She would tell him. She would tell him, it was just a guess. Michael was lying and that was just a guess, just an effort to try to beat Michael’s twisted little game. She would tell him. She would _tell_ him.

Her gaze dropped to the ground.

“You never told them a thing, did you?” Michael said with Dean's voice. 

Bris squeezed her eyes shut.

“You never told them what you saw, what you heard. You never even _mentioned_ it. How his soul sheared, how his heart screamed, how it called out to you, _ begging _ you for help... How many times did your coat find him? How many times did you simply go off to hide it again? You _ ignored _ him. You ignored him, all to chase a man who was fine without you. You ignored a man in _ pain, _ all to fulfill your own selfish fantasies.”

*He didn’t want—* Bris tried. *He weren’t— He weren’t mine to help—*

“How convenient for you."

Bris fell silent, her hands in fists at her sides.

“And the rest of you took no notice, either!” Michael said to the group. “It’s all up here, in Dean’s little mind: months of his actions, weeks of blatant patterns, but you all dismissed it, you _ all _ ignored it, too happy to pretend that everything was fine, too happy to continue your lives without the _ inconvenience _of his problems.”

Sam found himself staring at Bris again, silently begging her to look up— _ please— _ to speak up— _ please, tell me he’s lying, tell me you just guessed, tell me that none of this is true. _

But still, Bris would not look up at him.

“So why would I return Dean to you?” said Michael. “To people who never cared for him in the first place.” 

He stepped back from the group, drawing Sam’s attention again. Michael narrowed his eyes, looking over them all with bored, detached contempt. “Go back to your own lives,” he said. “You are not welcome here.”

He looked up to the sky, rolling Dean’s shoulders. Castiel started forward, “No—!” reaching out a hand— 

But before he could say more, they heard the beat of great wings. The snow was raised in a cloud, and by the time that it settled, Michael had vanished.

Sam stared at the place that he’d left, at the small cluster of footsteps imprinted in snow. 

Dean had… 

No.

He’d…?

No...

Every day? 

For… months?

_ The only thing he longed for more than us, _ the Reaper had said, _ was you. _

In front of Sam, Castiel slowly turned around.

“You knew?” he asked. Looking to Bris.

She raised her eyes, meeting Castiel across the snowy pine needles. Sam’s breath stalled, _ She couldn’t… _ he still pleaded, _ She wouldn’t have… _

Her eyes fell back to the ground. “I didn’t know it were so bad.”

Sam’s heart plummeted.

“But you _ knew,” _Castiel said again, and began moving toward her. 

Bris shook her head, her eyes pleading, “It weren’t my place to—”

“You _ knew _Dean was suffering.” 

“I didn’t know that he—”

“You knew he was suffering, and you—! You told me he was fine! That what I saw wasn’t important! I came to you for _ help— _ I told you what I saw, and you did _ nothing!” _

Sam’s lips parted. _ What? _

“I did what I could!” Bris burst, shouting up into Castiel’s face as he stopped before her. “Why d’you think I were tryin’a help youse two so bad? I tried to get you to him _ because _ he needed help—!”

“You _ were _that help!”

“I know that _ now!” _ Bris’s eyes darted between Castiel’s, her breaths coming sharp. “I know that now, but what were I s’posed to do then? Leave Sam fer _ Dean? _He didn’t want me, an’ I didn’t want him neither!”

“He didn’t need _ that! _” 

“I _ know! _ I know that _ now!” _ Bris cried in return.

_ The only thing he longed for more than us, _ the Reaper had said, _ was _ _ you _ _ . _

_ Us? _Bris had asked; her voice so quiet, her tone shaking... 

_ You, _the Reaper had said, looking at them all.

Oh

“This is on all of us,” Sam said, cutting off what Castiel might have answered Bris with.

“What?” Castiel asked Sam instead.

“This is on all of us,” Sam repeated, looking up at the two of them. “Dean… He needed all of us. He needed... He needed his family.”

The pain in Bris’s eyes was unbearable to watch. Sam saw even Gabriel avert his gaze.

“But she _ knew—” _started Castiel.

“But she didn’t,” Sam stopped him. “She just said that she didn’t. Bris just— She just—” He looked over at her. “She misinterpreted what she saw,” he said, hoping he was right. 

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but at least she answered him. “I’ve never— My coat— It’s never gone to no one I weren’t gonna— It’s never gone to... family.” She pressed her lips together, her head shaking slightly. *I didn’t even know… I didn’t even know Dean thought I _were_ family.*

Sam's whole stance sagged where he stood, his heart breaking for her for the second time in an hour.

“But it _ is _found by people who need you!” Castiel insisted. “It goes to people who are hurt—”

“It does,” Bris answered, “but I didn’t know he were hurtin’ like that. I swears, _ I didn’t know _it were that bad.” 

“How could you not—!” 

“If she should have known then I should have, too,” Sam jumped in. “You came to me, too, Cas, and... and I didn’t think anything was wrong either.” 

“That’s—!” Castiel stopped, drawing back. “That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“But she—!”

“Cas.” Sam stepped forward, placing his hand on Castiel’s forearm, lowering the finger he was pointing at Bris. “Did you know that Dean— ...what was going on with him?”

Castiel frowned. “I suspected something, but... But I didn’t—”

“Did I know? Even though you told me what you’d seen?”

“No. You thought it was—” 

“Did Bris know? Even though she could tell that something was off?”

Castiel grimaced, looking away from Sam. “...No,” he answered.

Sam released Castiel’s arm.

Castiel shifted on his feet, glaring down at the ground.

Sam released a sigh, stepping back from Castiel.

“Alright,” he said, turning to face the rest of the group, “so we need to—”

“But you should have known,” said Castiel.

Sam turned back to him.

“You should have known,” he said, “but you told me he was fine. You _both—!_ You told me not to worry—!”

“I know, Cas, but—”

“You told me he was fine! You told me he was ‘just being Dean’!”

“Because I thought he was. Cas—”

“You both ignored what was happening to him. You _ all _ ignored it!” Castiel threw an accusing hand about. “You _ don’t _ care about him! _ None _of you care about him!”

“The fuck?” exclaimed Sam. “Are you seriously believing _ Michael? _ About _ that?” _

“He speaks with Dean’s memories, he knows what Dean knows—” 

“That doesn’t mean it's the truth!”

“When did he lie? He told us what happened to Dean, he told us what Bris was hiding!”

“Yes, but—”

“Bloody _ hell, _ Feathers!” Crowley snapped. “And _why_ do you think he did that?” 

Castiel backed off from his assault on Sam, looking over at Crowley. “He… Well, he...”

“Oh, good god. You’ve always been easy to rile but this is _ridiculous,”_ Crowley said with a roll of his eyes. “He’s _ toying _ with you, you moron. Frustrating you all until you split the party, give up, and go home. And as evidenced by your little tantrum, he’s _ succeeding.” _

Castiel glared at Crowley. “You think he told us this… so we would leave?”

_ “Obviously. _ It’s ‘Dealing With Winchesters 101’. You lot blunder in, we give you something to hurt your feelings, you argue yourselves to death, and then you spend the next _ several _ months trying to forget about it until the next thing comes around to distract you. You’re all so _ emotional, _ so _ sensitive. _ You’re so wrapped up in yourselves that never ask the right questions, and it lets _ us _off scott-free. It’s worked for _years.”_

Sam blinked at Crowley. Castiel wasn't so distracted. “Not everyone is as deranged as you,” he growled back.

“Of course not. I clearly do it best.”

Castiel's blade twitched in his hand. “Did you come on this mission _ solely _to antagonize us?”

“No. I also did it for the giggles.”

“I could gut you now and no one would mourn the loss.”

“Rude.”

“Cas, c’mon—” tried Sam.

“Oh, so you’ll defend _ him, _ too?” Castiel threw at Sam. 

"No! But you don't need to go _stabbing _him—"

"Why not? Now or later, what does it matter?"

“Dude, _ what _has gotten into you?”

“I haven’t allowed _anything_ inside of my—!”

“Oi. Why didn’ he just kill us?”

Everyone stopped. This time, they turned as one to face Direl.

“...What?” asked Sam.

“Why didn’t Michael just… kill us?” Direl shrugged. “He’s a bleedin’ archangel, why not just wipe us off the face a’ this Earth?”

Sam and Castiel both opened their mouths to respond, and shut them again without answer.

“See!” said Crowley, beaming. _“That’s _ the kind of questions we need to be asking around here! I don’t have an _ answer,_ but it’s a _ very _ important question that we should probably find the answer to. Now _ me,"_ he placed a hand over his sternum,_ "I’m_ far more immediately interested in why that last angel thought that the lot of _ us _were angels, and how on earth she found us with what seemed to be half a thought.”

“Found _ me _with half a thought,” corrected Gabriel.

“Pay attention, Bird-Brain, she picked up something off of all of us— well, at _ least _Feathers and I, but it sure sounded like she thought we were all angels, same as her.”

Gabriel sighed. “Fine, Sherlock, _ yeah, _ that’s weird. What do we do about it then?”

“Not my department. _ I’m _just the voice of reason.”

“I’m starting to see why Bris and Cassy don’t like you.”

“We’ll have to hide you, somehow” Sam said to Gabriel, trying to head off yet _ another _argument. “We’ll have to hide all of us, but you specifically, we’ll have to keep you off their radar.”

“Oh! Can we ward him?” said Direl, gesturing over his own ribcage. 

“What?” asked Gabriel.

“I’ve carved wardings into their ribcages,” said Castiel, his voice flat, as though he weren’t really paying attention.

“Oh. Well, yeah, I’ve got a crapload of those built into this vessel. How else do you think I stayed hidden from my Brothers for millennia?” Gabriel's face dropped into a frown. “Hey, yeah! I’m _ loaded _ with wardings! How the heck did that regular old angel find _ me?” _

“‘New universe, new rules’,” quipped Crowley, shooting Gabriel a leer. 

Gabriel did not return his amusement. 

Crowley shrugged him off. “Well, it seems we’re at quite the impasse,” he said, placing a finger on his chin. “If _ only _someone had thought to bring along a book of spells, a grimoire, one might even say, of a sort both twisted and varied... Oh right! I did.” He glanced over at Sam with a smirk. “Page 34, Moose, be a dear and bring it out would you?”

Sam’s face heated with disdain, but he went to his duffel, still sitting off in the snow where he’d dropped it during the fight. He pulled out the spellbook and opened it to the page Crowley had named.

“A 'sigil of hiding'.” Sam looked up at Crowley. “You think this will work on Gabriel?”

“Worked on an entire spellwork facility. I figure with some tweaking, it should work just fine on one little archangel.”

Gabriel blustered with offense as Sam scanned the list of ingredients. “It says we need angel blood,” he noted, and looked over at Castiel.

Crowley, however, gestured at the body of Baradiel, still crumpled on the ground at his feet. "When in Rome," he grinned, "why not bleed as the Romans do."

Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste, but still, he reached for his blade in his belt.

He didn’t miss that Castiel turned away, moving to stand apart from the group, by himself, a short distance off.

——— 

Twenty minutes later, Sam finished crushing his ingredients in the spellbowl in his lap, creating a paste with Baradiel’s blood that he was to paint onto the surface of what he wanted to hide. The group had settled as they waited, Bris and Direl sitting at the base of a tree together, wrapping gauze around Bris’s arm; Gabriel watching the sky for any more angels; Crowley looking over Sam’s shoulder as he assembled the spell; and Castiel, still standing off to the side, staring at nothing in particular.

Sam finished and stood with his bowl, moving to Gabriel first. He was watching the sky intently, so intently, that he didn’t notice Sam approaching until Sam tapped him on the shoulder.

“What—? Oh. What's up, Samalam? Besides you, freaking giant.”

Sam just raised the bowl. “Ready?”

“Oh. Yeah." Gabriel blinked at it. "Yeah, sure.”

As Sam gave the contents of the bowl a final stir, Gabriel threw him a sudden smirk.

“So! Where should I put my first tattoo?” he beamed. “Bicep seems so _basic,_ and my tummy’s way too ticklish. I thought about my lower back, but you know I’m a good girl so—”

“How about just your hand?” offered Sam.

The smirk settled out into something more tame, and Gabriel offered the back of his hand to Sam. 

Sam dipped his finger in the paste. “Did you say your _ first _tattoo? You seriously don’t have others?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Not for lack of trying, your needles have never been able to pierce my skin. Got a thick hide here, Samster, ain’t nothin’ gettin’ through me except—”

Gabriel stopped abruptly, his smile dropping from his face.

Sam almost asked the requisite _ Except what? _but caught himself just in time. 

Instead, he moved to begin drawing the sigil, but when the paste touched Gabriel's skin, his hand flexed sharply.

Sam immediately removed his finger. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

“What? _ Nah!_ No, of course n—!”

“Gabriel.”

Gabriel glanced away from Sam. “It stings, alright? Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Gabe, if it hurts—”

“It just stings.” Gabriel looked up at Sam. “Look... I can take a little pain to keep you all safe. I’ve been— I’ve been hiding from Michael for eons. This is nothing new.”

Sam watched Gabriel’s face, wary for any sign he was putting up a front. But Gabriel met him pound for pound, not wavering once.

So Sam nodded, and continued drawing the sigil, working past Gabriel’s winces and grinding teeth. 

When Sam finished, the sigil lit, glowing with golden light as it set onto Gabriel’s skin. He sucked in a breath and snatched his hand back, shaking it like he’d touched a hot stove. _“Crrripes! _ Forget it, _ no _ more tattoos! _ Completely _overra—!”

“Gabriel?” Castiel’s head popped up from his daze. Finding Gabriel in the same place, he gave a simple, "Oh," and settled back down. 

Gabriel tipped his head at Sam, “Guess the spell works.” He looked back at Castiel, massaging the back of his hand, seemingly absently. “Didn’t, ah… Didn’t know Cassy could… _Hm.”_

He stepped away from Sam, returning his attention to his watch of the sky.

Sam made his rounds to the others, marking Crowley for sure, but also Direl, Bris, and himself, just to cover their bases. 

Finally he made it to Castiel, still staring out into the woods.

“Cas?” Sam said. “Hey. Cas?” 

Castiel blinked slowly, his posture drawing up as he came back to himself. He closed his eyes and frowned.

“I still can’t feel him,” he said, his voice as flat as before. 

“Oh,” said Sam.

“I’m reaching out, but…” Castiel shook his head. “Michael must be blocking him again, shrouding him from me.” He looked back off through the woods. "New universe, new rules..." he intoned quietly.

“...Right,” said Sam. Not sure what else he could say. 

They stood in silence. Apparently Castiel didn’t either. 

Finally, Sam sighed. “Look, Cas—”

“We should make our way to Jack,” said Castiel, cutting him off. “We know where he is, he’s a target we can reach. The journey shouldn’t take very long.”

Sam looked at him carefully. “That’s… very level-headed of you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, without irony.

The conversation dropped again. 

*Okay…* sighed Sam.

In the gap, Sam eventually noticed another sound. Music, muffled, apparently coming from Castiel’s coat. By the sound of it, the little speaker was still on, still playing that same song from when they first exited the portal. 

“Hey, um, is your phone stuck?” asked Sam.

Castiel turned to him in silent question.

“Your music, it’s on repeat," Sam explained. "I, ah… I could fix it for you.”

Castiel frowned, and reached into his pocket to draw out the speaker, unmuffling the song it was playing as he did:

_ “—come around here no more, _ _  
_ _ Whatever you’re lookin’ for, _ _  
_ _ Hey! Don't come around here no more,” _

Castiel’s confusion only deepened. “This isn’t on any of the lists that I downloaded...” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Castiel turned a dark squint on him.

“I just mean—" Sam fumbled, "It's just— Well, it’s not like we have wifi out here.”

Castiel turned back to the speaker. “I know what songs I brought with,” he grumbled as the song continued. “I know every song that I picked…”

_ “I've given up, stop, _ _  
_ _ I've given up, stop, _ _  
_ _ Ah-ah-ah, oh-oh, _ _  
_ _ I've given up, stop, on waiting any longer, _ _  
_ _ I've given up, on this love getting stronger,” _

Castiel closed his eyes, sighing with what seemed like realization as the chorus began.

_ “Don’t come around here no more,” _

“This is from Dean,” he said.

“What?” Sam looked between him and the speaker.

_ “Don’t come around here no more,” _

“It’s… It’s a message…” said Castiel.

_ “Don’t come around here no more,” _

"A message?" asked Sam.

“From Dean,” said Castiel.

_ “Don’t come around here no more...” _

“I didn’t bring this with. And Dean can’t reach me the way he did before, so maybe…”

Sam just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “You don’t think this _ might _just be more of Michael’s bullshit?” 

“I highly doubt Michael knows the music of Tom Petty.” 

“Yeah but Dean does, and Michael knows Dean listened to it with you.” 

Castiel looked up at Sam.

“You guys sat out in the common areas all the time, you weren’t subtle.”

Castiel looked down at the speaker again. “This song began to play _ before _Michael or the angels found us—”

“And yet it says _exactly_ what Michael wants us to think Dean is feeling right now? You don’t think that’s just a little suspicious?”

Castiel didn't answer him. His thumb moved across the mesh of the speaker. When he did speak again, it came softly, just above a whisper. 

“Dean said ‘yes’ to Michael thinking I didn’t care for him. That his romantic feelings weren’t reciprocated. That I didn’t care at all...”

_ “...I’ve given up, stop,” _

“...that none of us cared about him at all.” 

_ “I’ve given up, stop...” _

“Michael wouldn’t understand that,” said Castiel. “He wouldn't understand the layers of it. He can state what was in Dean's mind, but he wouldn't know… how to translate it, how to connect it to something as nuanced as a human song. I can barely do it myself, and I've lived amongst humans for years.” 

Sam didn't think this was that complicated, but Castiel was obviously not in a place for such a discussion. Instead, he looked down at Castiel with a careful gaze. “Cas,” he said gently, “how could Dean have even sent this? He’s not a witch, he doesn’t have any… _ powers.” _

Castiel shook his head slightly. He shifted one hand to brush his fingers over the speaker, somehow pouring the most tender affection into the tiny movement. Sam was almost embarrassed to have witnessed it.

“I don’t know,” he said, quiet but firm. “It’s just... It’s from him.” 

"But, Cas—" 

The song on the speaker switched abruptly, from the slow stomping of the last song to another one, more upbeat and— as Sam unfortunately knew from years of being subjected to Dean’s severely limited pallet of music— _deceptively_ jangly. 

_ “You belong, among the wildflow-ers, _ _  
_ _ You belong, in a boat, out at sea, _ _  
_ _ Sail away, kill off the hou-rs, _ _  
_ _ You belong somewhere you feel free,” _

Castiel furrowed his brow at the song. 

*God dammit,* Sam bit out.

_ “Run away, find you a lover, _ _  
_ _ Go away, somewhere all bright and new, _ _  
_ _ I have see-een no-o other, _ _  
_ _ Who compa-a-ares with you, _

_ “You belong, among the wildflowers, _ _  
_ _ You belong in a boat, out at sea, _ _  
_ _ You belong with your love on your arm, _ _  
_ _ You belong somewhere you feel free,” _

"I... don't understand these lyrics…" said Castiel as the break began. 

“It’s, um— Shit.” Sam sighed, tossing his hand. "It’s kind of the same as the other one. Except… Except this one is saying…" He sighed again. "It’s telling someone that they deserve better. That they should move on, and... find something else. Find… someone else.”

Castiel frowned even harder at the speaker.

_ “Run away, go find a lover, _ _  
_ _ Run away, let your heart, be your guide,” _

“I already spoke with Dean about this,” said Castiel, his voice growing dark. “I belong _ here,_ where I _ choose _ to be! I told him— I _ told _him—!”

“That’s what the beginning means, I guess” Sam said, trying to hedge Castiel’s rising anger. “But the end though— it kinda changes the song.”

_ “You deserve, the deepest of cover,” _

Castiel's eyes flicked to him. “How?”

“Well, see, it—”

_ “You belong in that home by and—” _

The song cut off mid-line.

Sam glanced down at the silent speaker. Then back up at Castiel. “Um—” 

The song started again. From the beginning. 

Both of them stared at the speaker. They waited through it again, listening to every word, but it cut off at the same place, looping back to the start.

“What does the end of the song mean,” said Castiel.

“It’s…” Sam shook his head. “It changes the song completely. I-It makes it about, like— burying someone who died, finding the right place for them, but...”

_ “...Run away, find you a lover, _ _  
_ _ Go away, somewhere all bright and new...” _

“But that’s not what Dean wants to say,” finished Castiel.

_“Cas…”_ Sam sighed. “We can’t know that it’s him, this could be just… more manipulation from Michael.”

Sam glanced over at Castiel, but Castiel didn’t return it. He was still staring at the speaker, seeming not to have heard Sam at all.

“Cas—?”

*I can’t put on that sigil.* 

Sam drew his chin back. “What?”

“I can’t—” He looked up at Sam. “Dean needs to know I’m here, that I’m here for him. I can’t hide from him, not now. Even if I can’t reach him, he needs to know he can reach me.”

Sam flushed hot with resentment, acutely aware of the sigil on his own hand. “We’re not hiding from Dean, Cas. We’re hiding from Michael.”

“At this point, is that not the same?” 

_ “No, it—” _ Sam bit back his frustration. It wasn't the same at all. But that wasn't going to help right now. Not with Cas like... this.

“Cas,” he said, more gently but not by much, “if this is Dean... if this _ is _ him and he can reach you through this speaker… then Michael can, too.”

Castiel pressed his lips together. He looked down at the speaker again.

“Look, you have to put the sigil on. You’re putting us in danger, man.” Sam glanced back at the others. “All of us.”

Castiel kept his eyes on the speaker. The song cut off and looped back again.

_ “Cas,” _ Sam tried once more, holding up the bowl, _“this _ is how we reach him. _ This _is how we get him back.”

Castiel was quiet a moment longer, and to the point where Sam thought he was going to have to try something else, maybe ask someone else to come over and convince him. But then Castiel sighed, his eyes falling shut, and he pulled up his sleeve to offer the inside of his wrist to Sam.

Sam glanced up to Castiel's face, but the angel's eyes were fixed firmly on the ground.

Sam dipped his finger into the mixture.

*I’m sorry,* whispered Castiel.

Sam knew he wasn’t speaking to him. 

He drew. Castiel barely winced. The sigil set into Castiel’s skin, and his shoulders slumped. 

*I'm sorry,* he whispered again.

———

With all of them successfully cloaked, they set about properly regrouping. Ingredients were packed back up, bags were retrieved from where they’d been dropped in the fight, they found their heading for south-southwest, and everyone headed out. 

Well, almost everyone. 

As the others moved, Crowley whipped up a hand, stopping Direl short.

_ *What?* _ Direl hissed between his teeth, his eyes darting toward the other’s retreating backs. 

Crowley stepped over, placing himself in front of Direl with his hand still flat on his chest.

“You called me Crowley,” he said simply.

Direl’s gaze skipped back to him as he frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Back in that shriveled old bunker, when Boudica went berzerker... _ You _ called me _ Crowley _.”

Direl throat worked up and down as he swallowed. He leaned back slightly. “I-I did, yeah. Still yer name, iddnit?”

The hand holding Direl shifted, turning to press more softly against his chest. Crowley leaned in, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“I _ told _you to call me _Fergus.”_

Direl’s heart sped skittishly in his chest, he glanced up at the group again, now at least thirty meters off. “Aye, ye did. But—”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I— Ehm— Well, I—”

“Are you afraid that they’ll find out?” Crowley leered, moving in again, blocking Direl’s line of sight. “That they’ll realize just _ where _ you’ve been going for days on end?" 

“Wh- No! No— I only—”

Crowley moved in even closer, “Are you afraid they’ll find out about the _ things _that I do to you?”

“What—! _Well—!_ I mean, I—”

“If this is going to _ work, _ my little culchie," Crowley said, his silky lowered voice now taking on an edge, "you’re going to have to do better. I don’t _ tolerate _ mediocrity.” 

Direl cringed, averting his gaze from Crowley. Then his hands balled into fists at his sides. He raised his eyes once more, hard with determination. “Look now, F— Fergus. Look here now, I gotta—”

“_There _we go. See? Was that so hard?” Crowley patted Direl on the cheek, oblivious to, ignoring, or maybe downright enjoying the way Direl flinched from his touch. “Of course not. Now, come along, darling. We’re falling behind.”

And with that Crowley spun away from Direl, loping his merry way across the snow toward the others. 

Direl stood there a moment longer, watching him go. 

His shoulders slumped, and he sighed heavily.

“Fuck.”

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


Not thirty miles away, Michael felt the last of the little rescue squad disappear from his Realm. He gave a hum of satisfaction, allowing a blanket of the feeling to sink deep into the recesses of his Vessel.

“They’ve gone,” he said into the empty air. “All of them. Down to the last.”

He paused, waiting for a response. He did not receive one.

“Now, Dean, don’t pout,” Michael said. “You _ knew _ this would happen. I _ told _you so. They learned the truth, and they left, just as I said.” 

Still he received no response. 

...Best to make sure.

“They always leave, Dean,” Michael said. “They _always_ leave, and they always will. I hope you’ll remember that in the future.” 

He waited...

But he only heard silence.

Only blissful, peaceful silence.

Michael smiled, a wide smile that exposed too many teeth. He turned, facing a corner where a human was tied to a chair. Their head was covered with a sack, their breathing quick and terrified. Michael stepped toward the chair, noting the lock of red hair that poked out from under the sack and he sighed. Sloppy work from his new soldiers. A reprimanding would be in order.

The human held their breath as he approached, thinking they could hide their fear, but they could not hide their racing heart from Michael’s ears.

“They will always leave,” Michael said, leering down at the human. “One way… or another.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! How about this depression hell-year, huh?  
Well, here I am, back on my bullshit, with an actual chapter for y'all, can you believe it?  
Something's changed in the air, man. That finale dropped and I felt a fire light in my veins like I haven't in years. I banged out an entire fix-it finale over about 24hrs (check out my Works page, you're gonna love it) and launched back into my various writing projects like nobody's business.  
Queer people deserve happy endings.  
Mentally ill people deserve happy endings.  
Disabled people, women, POC,  
We deserve stories, too. We all deserve happy endings.  
So I've got work to do.

Their little Odyssey began quietly, the only sounds the wind in the trees and six sets of feet crunching softly in the snow. There was no talking as Sam led the group, his duffel strapped securely across his back, his coat buttoned tight, and a compass in hand to keep their bearing. 

South-southeast. 

For three hundred miles.

Castiel may have thought their journey would be short, but by Sam’s estimate it would take at least a week, maybe two, of solid walking to reach their destination. Now yes, half of this group was fully immortal, and Bris and Direl were… well, not _ inhuman, _ but… whatever they were, the point was that Sam wasn’t. _ He _ was only human.

_ He _was going to be the limiting factor here. 

So when Sam's feet began to hurt halfway through the night, he said nothing. When he shivered in the biting chill, he walked faster. And when his stomach growled, he certainly didn’t ask to stop and prepare food. Instead he did just enough to quiet it, nibbling on the edge of a travel bar and tucking the rest into his pocket.

“Hey,” came a voice at his side. 

Sam turned, and found Gabriel looking up at him sternly.

"What?" asked Sam.

“Don’t do that,” said Gabriel.

“Do what?” 

“That.” Gabriel pointed at the pocket with the bar.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Eat?”

“No— _ Ugh.” _ Gabriel rolled his eyes. “ _ Not _eat. Not sleep. Drive yourself until you want to collapse and then push even harder.”

Sam looked back down at his compass. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not, though. I can tell.”

Sam scoffed before he could stop it. “Right. Because you know me so well.” 

Gabriel just shrugged. “Known you longer than anyone else here.”

Sam frowned. He turned to Gabriel, about to argue, but then he recalled the members of their present company and realized... that was true. 

“...Huh.”

“I mean, I haven’t been _ around _as much as, say, Cassy,” Gabriel continued, “but— well— when you’ve seen as much as I have, the patterns are just easier to spot, ya know?”

“The patterns?”

“Yeah, you know, _ Humanity. _ Don't get me wrong, Samster, you're an exceptional case, and humans overall are intensely varied, but yet, collectively, you're still _ so _ predictable.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “All the more fun to mess with us, huh?”

Gabriel shot him a look. “You’re really cranky when you’re tired. You know that, right?”

Sam pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. He just kept his eyes on the forest, pointedly not slowing down.

Gabriel sighed beside him. “I just mean… Look, this is only the start of— _ all this, _ ya know?” He waved a hand at their general surroundings. “I’m just saying, you gotta pace yourself.”

“I’ve made it through worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

Sam frowned, glancing over at him. 

Gabriel frowned back.

...Sam started walking faster. 

But Gabriel matched his pace, his stern look turning concerned.

“Hey,” he said again.

Sam kept walking.

Gabriel caught his arm, _ “Hey.” _

_ “What?” _snapped Sam, not slowing his stride.

Gabriel hung on tight to his coat sleeve, staring at the side of his face, giving him no space to hide. 

“You can’t save them if you’re burnt out, Sam.”

Sam flinched and turned, meeting Gabriel’s gaze. And Gabriel, for his part, held it. They marched that way for a few beats, their steps out of sync but their pace still the same.

Sam’s stomach growled again.

He huffed in resignation. _ “Fine!” _ he grumbled, and came to a halt. 

_ “Oh t’ank god,” _ Direl burst. He all but collapsed against a tree, reaching down to rub at his legs. “Are we takin’ a break? _ Please _tell me we’re takin’ a break.”

“Um— Yeah,” answered Sam. “Yeah, we can take a break. If you need it.”

_ “Ye-e-es,” _ Direl whined, sliding down the tree to sit at its base. “Dear _ god _in heaven, I swears I ain’t walked this much since I canvassed for Mary-feckin’-Robbinson.”

"Mary R—?"

“Perhaps we should set up a camp,” said Castiel, looking up at the sky. “The sun will be up soon, and we’ve put a good distance between ourselves and the portal. We should rest, allow you to get some sleep.”

“Aw, that’d be _ grand! _ Wouldn’t that be grand?” Direl asked Bris, kicking out to get her attention. 

She winced and pulled her shin out of range, shooting him a reproachful glare. Then she glanced over at Sam, meeting his eye for only a moment before hastily looking away. “We could keep goin’,” she said quietly. “We’ve a lotta ground to cover yet.”

The others all looked to him. 

"Oh— um—" started Sam, glancing around at them in return. In the slowly breaking sunlight, he could now see the dark circles forming under Direl and Bris’s eyes. He could see the way Gabriel sagged and how even Castiel slumped. Really, of all of them, only Crowley seemed fine to go on.

“Yeah, okay,” said Sam. “Yeah, let’s set up camp.”

She didn't respond, but Sam saw the way Bris's shoulders minutely relaxed. 

“Deadly!" declared Direl, leaping back to his feet. "All right, gonna need a fire, colder’n’a witch’s tits out here!” 

“I’ll take first watch,” said Gabriel. 

“I’ll clear the site,” said Castiel.

And they got to it. Bris and Direl dropped their bags and took off into the trees, Gabriel directed his attention to the sky, and Castiel wordlessly began clearing snow away with little bursts of magic. Crowley immediately scoffed at Castiel and began trying to clear it himself, though he mostly failed, being still without properly functioning magic of his own. 

Sam just stood there, a little thrown by the speed with which they took up their tasks. “I’ll just— Uh— I guess I’ll… get wood, too.”

Gabriel snorted. 

Sam spun around and left before the inevitable comment.

He made his way out into the trees, walking a ways off before he began properly searching. 

He kicked at the snow, tapping around in the thin white layer to uncover the fallen sticks hiding beneath. They were grimy to the touch, damp and flimsy, but they were all over and easy to find.

_ Kick... _

_ Kick... _

_ Got one. _

_ Kick...  
_

He’d picked up a good armload before he looked up and around, and it really hit him:

The break.

The quiet.

The pause.

It made his skin itch and his muscles jitter. He spun around, looking for any more sticks in the nearby snow— 

And saw he wasn’t that far away from Bris.

Sam grasped his bundle tighter, the gritty old bark slipping in his hands. 

Bris paused, her hand reaching up for a dead branch off a tree, and turned around to face him.

They stood like that for a few seconds, staring at each other across the distance between them, their breath forming periodic clouds.

Then Bris shifted, her brow twitching together in a furrow, and she turned away, finishing her reach and snapping a dead branch off a pine tree and moving on to the next.

Sam frowned. He glanced back at camp, checking that it was a good distance off now. He couldn’t even see the others, surely nobody was paying them any attention. 

So Sam took a fortifying breath, and headed in Bris’s direction.

"Hey," he said, catching up to her.

She glanced over at him, just a flick, there and back, before returning to her task. "'Lo," she answered him. 

**Snap, **went her branch.

Sam shuffled on his feet. He kicked at the ground, uncovering another small stick from under the snow. 

“So, uh...” he started, bending over to pick up the stick, “who’s Mary Robbinson?”

“Who’s— What?” said Bris, turning to him with an incredulous look.

_ Oh, great opener, does she also come here often? _“Um— Direl—” Sam utterly fumbled. “He said— Canvassing—”

“What...? Oh.” She shook her head a little. “Well, she’s the president. Was the president. In the ‘90’s? I mean, it weren’t even that long ago—” 

“Oh, of _ Ireland! _ Right, the _Irish_ President! Yeah— Yeah, of course!" Sam said over a shaky laugh. " _ Tch. _ Yeah! I mean— _ Duh.” _

Bris gave him a silent once-over. She opened her mouth to speak, but just shut it again and turned back to the tree. 

**Snap. **

**Snap.**

Sam clenched his sticks tight to keep from smacking himself in the forehead.

Then Bris reached up for a branch that was just a bit too high for her. 

“Oh! Here—” said Sam, springing forward before she could even lower her raised arm, and breaking it off for her.

He turned back to her, holding out the branch, and in doing so caught sight of Bris’s split jacket sleeve where an angel had cut her. 

"Hey, um, how’s— your arm? Doing. How’s your arm doing?”

_ Wooow. _

Bris glanced between him and the extended branch. Twice. Then, carefully, like Sam might pull it back any second, she reached out, and took it. 

"S'fine,” she answered with a shrug. “Direl bandaged it up."

"Cas didn't heal it?"

Bris raised an eyebrow in lieu of an answer.

"Oh, well— I mean, I know, but— He's not _ that _upset,” Sam stammered.

Bris scoffed— or was it a chuckle— and turned back to her tree. "Well _ I'm _ not 'bout to ask him."

“Oh,” said Sam. “Um. I could ask him. For you. I-If you want.” 

She gave a small sigh and looked over her shoulder at him with what _ almost, _ just _ might _have been a smile. 

Then she looked down to his arms. “You know those’re crap, right?”

“What—” Sam looked down too, at the wet, grimy, dry-rotted mess of old sticks that he held. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Guess they are.” He looked over at her bundle, all dry and solid and sure to actually burn. “Guess I should have just followed you, huh?”

_ “Mm, _ yeah. Fer a start.”

They both chuckled at that, just little huffs, and honest-to-goodness Sam’s heart tripped a step. _ Jeez, _how long had it been since he heard her just laugh? 

The laughter passed, but Sam kept watching her for a moment, taking in what was standing right in front of him. Bris’s breath clouded before her in the chill, momentarily obscuring the smile— the real smile— that still lifted her lips. The light of the now-steadily rising dawn was laying steaks of gold through her beautiful flowing hair, and her big, dark eyes, crinkled in the corners with mirth, sparkled up at him, as stunning as the day he met her.

“Hey, um—” he suddenly began, faltering for what he actually wanted to say.

Her tiny smile wavered. “Yeah?”

“We, ah… Could we…?” 

A small crease formed between her brows. 

Sam huffed. _ Christ, man, get it together. _ “Look. Could we maybe talk about—?”

** _fffffffffffK!_ **

_ “Shit! _What—!” was all Sam managed before Bris snatched him by the collar and yanked him behind a tree. 

He looked back at where they'd been standing, and saw an arrow shaft sticking out of the tree trunk about three feet above where his head had just been. 

“Don’t move! Or the next one goes through your heart!” came a voice from off in the trees, a feminine voice that struck a... weirdly familiar chord in Sam’s memory.

“Don’t _ you _come any closer or I’ll run yeh through like a trout!” Bris shouted right back, the sticks long gone and her blade already in hand.

From across the distance Sam heard what might have been “_ Like a trout…?” _and a responding snort. 

*There's two of them,* he whispered to Bris, quietly drawing his gun.

Bris nodded in silent acknowledgment.

"No need for that, we just want to talk," called the voice again. 

*My _ arse,* _ grumbled Bris with an accompanying eye roll. "Ain't got no supplies fer you!" she shouted around the tree. "Ran outta food days ago! Only got one set a’ clothes, no booze. I’m tellin’ yeh, we ain’t worth the effort!"

Sam shot her a glance. That was the kind of response that came from experience. But Bris wasn’t paying attention to him and didn’t look back.

"Right. Of course not," the voice responded. “And neither are we. Neither is anyone out in these woods.”

“Exactly. This ain’t worth your time,” said Bris, in the coaxing tone of an authority. “So you can go on now, leave us be, an’ catch yerself an honest rabbit like the rest of us. Nobody need get hurt here.”

The voice didn’t answer that. 

It was quiet for a moment, each side waiting for the other to make a move.

"Alright, look, we know you’re human,” said a second voice, confirming Sam’s suspicions. This voice was also feminine, though this one was wholly unfamiliar. “And we know you’re traveling with angels. And these arrows, well, they’re tipped with reforged angel swords.” 

Sam and Bris shared a look.

“So?” Sam asked the voices.

“_ So... _ you help us, we help you, get it?” 

_ “Help _ us?” Bris snapped back. “Why in the hell should we think you’d _ help _us?” 

There was a pause. Then the second voice responded again. 

“Because you’re people,” they said. “Because you need help.”

And they said it with such confusion, like it was utterly _ insane _ to suggest otherwise, that Sam was sure they either meant that wholeheartedly, or were one _ hell _of an actor. 

“Yeh jus’ _ shot _at us!” Bris cried around the tree, apparently not as convinced.

“We’re generous, not reckless,” the first voice said. 

"Yeah, alright, fuck off, yeh cunts."

One of the voices pulled in a hissing sigh. *_ I _ _ told _ _ you we should have just gone up to them!* _the second voice threw at the first.

_ *And have _ _ another _ _ kidnapping on my hands? No way!* _

_ *You don’t know that they’d—* _

_ *And you don’t know that they wouldn’t!* _There was a pause, perhaps a silent battle of wills. Then the first voice called out to Sam and Bris: “Look, we can get you out of here, okay? We've got a silencing spell up, those angels can’t hear us. We can walk away, right now, and they won’t even know you’ve gone.”

“Get us out of…?” said Sam. “Oh, they think— _ Oh.” _ He raised his voice in return, “Ah— We’re not— _ hostages _or anything! They’re, um, they’re with us!”

_ *What— Don’t—!* _ Bris hissed at him— 

“They’re... _ with _you?” the second voice questioned slowly.

Bris shut her eyes and released a low, growling sigh.

“Yeah— we’re— traveling together," Sam answered, turning his palms up at Bris.

"Traveling where?" the first voice demanded.

*Aye, _ Sam, _ travelin' where?* Bris echoed with an eyeroll.

Shit. Shit, shit, _ shit, _ stupid mistake, _ stupid— _Dean was always better at the storytelling— 

"South," Sam blurted. "We're looking for someone, someone we lost."

Slowly, Bris turned her head to him, eyes wide with reproach and lips pressed so tightly together they nearly vanished.

"Someone you _ lost, _huh?" asked the voice.

"Well— yeah,” said Sam, looking back at Bris. “Th-There was an accident. A-And they got lost—"

"An accident? Or an _ escape?" _

Bris dropped her face into her hands. Sam thought he heard the tiniest scream squeaking in her throat.

Shit, shit, shit— "What—? No! Nobody escaped!" Sam backtracked. "We’re not prisoners, it was just an accident! Just an accident, a-and they got lost, and now we just need to reach the settlement to the south so we can leave and we’ll be out of your—"

“You’re _ leading _them to the camp!?” burst the first voice.

_ "Shh!" _the second voice scolded the first.

*Hear, hear!* agreed Bris.

“No!” Sam responded automatically. “Well— Yes, but—” Sam let out a huff. “Look, these aren’t... _ bad _angels, alright? They’re— They’re not even your kind of angel—”

“_ Our _ kind of angel?” said the first voice.

“No, not at all! They’re—! Different.”

“Different.”

*Different.* Bris echoed, apparently resigned to single-worded seething.

“Yes—! I mean—!” Sam stumbled. “Look, this involves a _ really _long explanation and I’m sure you’d rather just—”

The sound of shifting fabric caught Sam’s ear. He snapped his head to the left, just in time to look down the shaft of an arrow, drawn and aimed right at his chest.

“I’ve got time,” said the holder of the bow, finally giving a face to the second voice.

——

Direl returned to the campsite and deposited his armload of dry branches into the center of the cleared snow. “Alright, there’s a start! Now, who’s got the flint?” he asked, rubbing his hands together as he glanced around at the others.

He got no answer. 

_“Ah, __Christ__—" _Direl sighed, "Did none of youse bring any damned flint for the fire?”

“Did you?” asked Castiel.

“Did _ I—? _ I’m a _ guard, _not a camp-maker!”

The others stared at him blankly.

“Wh— A guard! I gather the wood and secure the perimeter! The camp-makers get the old ones settled and start the fire, the runners go off for the booze— Ain’t you lot never roughed-it before!?” 

The blank stares continued.

Direl slumped where he stood. “Oh Lord, we’re all fucked aren’t we.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Always straight to doom with you,” he said, and dismissively snapped his fingers at the pile of sticks—

Which blew apart like a bomb went off beneath them.

_ “Oi! _ What gives!” Direl cried behind his raised arms.

“_‘What gives’—? _ My _ powers, _ that’s what! They don’t _ work!” _

“Yeah, I fuckin’ _ know! _ That’s why I asked fer the damned _ flint!” _

“Why would I carry flint when I have magic?”

“I wasn’t askin’ only you!”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t taken so bloody long getting the wood—!”

“I was gone fer a _ minute!” _

“Hey,” said Gabriel. “Where’s Bris and Samalam?”

Direl and Crowley broke off their shouting match to look around the campsite. “I dunno,” answered Direl, “we kinda all just… went off.”

Apparently this wasn’t the answer Gabriel wanted because his frown only deepened. “They’ve been gone too long.”

Castiel looked up from his seat on a fallen log. “They have?” he asked.

Direl snorted, his mouth raising in a smirk. “Maybe they finally gone and gotten their heads outta their arses.” 

Gabriel tipped his head. _ “Mmm, _ the longer they stay away, the more likely they are to finally talk...”

Castiel frowned. “Talk about what?”

“Are you _really_ that dense?” Crowley snipped. “What am I saying, of course you are. Wouldn’t know emotional nuance if it bit you in the—”

“Oh ‘cause yer any better,” grumbled Direl.

“Ex-_ cuse _me?” Crowley rounded on him.

Direl flinched. “I didn’t— I only meant— _ Ach, _ c’mon now, lay off him. His people skills ’r rusty, yeh know?”

Crowley drew his chin back, an eyebrow raised. 

Castiel did as well, though with a frown. “I suppose I’m... not the most adept at ‘reading’ people.”

Crowley scoffed. “Understatement of the—” 

“You’re fine, Cassy,” Gabriel cut in, shooting Crowley a _ withering _glare. “But still, personal problems aside, they’ve been gone too long. They might have been attacked—”

“By _what?”_ sneered Crowley. “Nothing can find us, not with these.” He gestured to the symbols Sam had painted on them. “And it’s not like there’s _ wildlife _in these woods, the place is a barren wasteland right out of a YA novel.”

“There are many animals in this forest,” said Castiel, “none nearby. They’re avoiding us.”

The others stared at Castiel for a beat.

“If somethin’ did happen,” started Direl, “wouldn’t youse two hear it? Super-angel-hearin’ and all?”

“And what if we didn’t? If we can’t?” said Gabriel. 

Crowley snorted. “Do you honestly think Boudaca would allow _ anything _to hurt a single perfect hair on her dear Moose’s head?” 

The others glanced at each other. 

———

Bris leapt at the archer with a scream of fury before Sam could get a good look at them. 

“Hey!” shouted the first voice. 

Sam jumped up, spinning toward the voice and aiming his gun in one motion. He heard a curse, and the person dove behind a tree of their own. 

He turned to help Bris wrangle the archer, but she’d already pinned them and halted any further struggles with a knife at their throat. 

“Nice job,” said Sam.

Bris's eyebrows rose, eyes never leaving the archer, then she seemed to allow herself a smile. “Thank you.” 

And of course Sam smiled back, how could he not?

Then he jumped back into the present moment, moving to place himself in front of Bris and their new hostage, his gun still covering the spot that first voice was hiding. Satisfied with their position, he glanced back at Bris, intending to ask about their next move, but he finally caught a proper look at this second person, and nearly did a double take. 

“Wait a minute—” Sam started, taking in their features. They were black, feminine, with a large cloud of tightly curly black hair pulled back in a poof behind their head. And their face… “Wait, are you—?” 

The first person moved, like they were going to take aim around their tree, snapping Sam’s attention back to them. “Hey!”

They ducked back, cursing up a storm.

“Have ‘em come out, love, we got the upper hand now,” said Bris.

Despite the cold, Sam’s whole body warmed with that one little endearment. “Alright!” he said, raising his voice. “Come out slowly, and nobody gets hurt!”

The person peeked around the tree again, no doubt taking stock of the situation. Sam gave them a moment to decide.

As expected, they shouted back, with no small amount of malice, _ “Fine! _ Hold your fire.” 

With that they stepped out from behind the tree, a white person with long blonde hair and a knife in one hand, the other held up in surrender. Their grip tightened on the knife in their hand, they raised their eyes to Sam’s, and— 

Sam nearly dropped his gun.

“Jo?” 

———

“Look, Bris’s gumption or not, they’ve definitely been gone too long,” said Gabriel.

“Well what do you want to do, go look for them?” asked Crowley.

“Uh, _ yeah, _that's the basic message I’m laying down here.” 

“You want to leave this perfectly good camp, to find them, _ right _when they’re probably patching things up?”

“Yes! What is so hard about this?”

“Oh, nothin'. Be my guest,” said Direl. “But I done walked in on enough make-up sessions for a lifetime. A _ selkie’s _lifetime.”

“Make-up session?” asked Castiel.

“Yeah, you know, making up? From all the fighting they’re finally not doing?”

“They always fight. Even when things are perfectly fine,” said Castiel.

“This is different and even you know that,” said Crowley.

“Making up or making out they’re making a _ mistake _because they’re too far from camp!” insisted Gabriel.

“At least they didn’t go off alone,” tossed Crowley.

“That _was_ wise,” agreed Castiel.

There was a pause.

_ “Hey,” _ said Direl, “you guys let _ me _go off alone!”

Gabriel and Castiel glanced away in guilt.

——— 

Jo Harevelle didn’t falter for a second when Sam said her name. She pulled back her arm holding the knife, and whipped it so fast it would have certainly hit Sam if he hadn’t known what was coming. 

“Jo! Jo, wait, it’s me! It’s Sam!”

“Only Sam’s I know are dead.” She drew another knife from her belt. “And none of ‘em were as big as you. You part giant or something, Hagrid?” 

“No— Look—” Sam turned his gun out and spread his palms in a show of surrender. 

“Sam, what in the hell’re you doin’?” snapped Bris.

Jo seemed to be wondering the same, watching Sam with caution.

“My name is Sam Winchester,” said Sam, slow and deliberate. “I’m a hunter, like you, like your dad. And as crazy as all of this is, I swear on my life that I know you.”

_ That _got Jo’s attention. “You know my dad?”

_ ‘Know.’ Huh. _“Sort of, when I was really little. And your mom, too, I knew Ellen.”

Jo’s knife arm lowered minutely, but she still didn’t seem convinced. 

“And her—” Sam jerked his head back toward the second person— “I know her, too. I think. You’re Cassie Robinson, right?”

“What—” the second person said. “I’ve never seen you in my life!”

“There was a truck, in your town, it was killing people? A stupid, racist ghost driving an old ‘60’s truck?”

“How in the hell…? How the hell do you know that!” said Cassie Robinson. 

But Jo’s face hardened again. “So you’re a psychic, huh? Nice try, buddy—”

“No! I’m not a— Well, I guess I am. But I’m not a—” Sam clamped his own jaw shut, forcing himself to slow down. “Look. I swear I know you. I mean, I knew you. Another version of you. See I’m— we’re—” He let out a sigh. “We’re from another dimension.”

Behind him, Sam heard Bris slap her forehead with her palm. 

———

“Alright, that’s it, it has been _ entirely _too long,” said Gabriel, turning distinctly away from Direl.

“You really have no sense of mental preservation, do you?” said Crowley.

Gabriel whirled on him, practically ready to pounce. Then he saw the self-satisfied smirk on the demon’s face and dialed himself back, replacing his glare with a single, cooly raised eyebrow. “You have… _ no _idea how many naked asses I’ve seen, do you?”

_ “Hurk—” _ gagged Direl. “_Jaysus, _ that’s my _ cousin _yer talkin’ about!”

_ “Tch. _That’s where you draw the line? Adorable,” groused Crowley.

Three different cries of _ “Ugh!” _were launched at Crowley.

“What?”

———

Jo stared at Sam, her next knife still raised. 

“I know it sounds crazy—” 

“Which one?” Jo cut him off.

“I— What?”

“Which one are you from?”

Sam blinked at her for a moment. “You— You believe me?”

“Other dimensions aren’t exactly news at this point.”

“They’re… not?” 

Jo gave him a more discerning look. “Are you, or are you not, from the same dimension as the new Michael?”

“You know about him? I mean— Well, yes. Yes we are.”

Jo still frowned. “What else can you tell me?”

“About what?”

Jo raised her eyebrows in an open invitation. "Anything. Convince me."

“Well, alright. Um. _You_, are two years younger than me. You lived at a place called the Roadhouse, your dad's bar, which your mom ran. She took over when your dad died, which was when I was about twelve so you would have been—”

“My dad died, did he?”

_ Well, there’s that suspicion confirmed. _“Um. Yeah.”

“What about my sister?”

“You don’t have a sister. Unless you have one here?”

Jo nodded at this. She continued watching him carefully. “How did my Dad die?”

Sam took in a regretful breath. Should have steered clear of that, _ should _have steered clear. 

“It was… It was my Dad’s fault,” said Sam. “He got your father killed. On a hunt.”

“How?”

Sam shut his eyes. Maybe Cas would heal his wounds if Bris ran and found him fast enough. “My Dad… He used your father as bait. He got hurt. Really hurt. And my Dad... put him out of his misery.”

The woods were completely silent. 

*Fuck,* Bris breathed.

“And I didn’t _murder_ your dad after this happened? My _ Mom _didn’t murder him?” Jo asked.

“By the time you found out my Dad was dead.”

“And I didn’t murder _you?”_

Sam made a small gesture to himself, clearly alive. “It was hard but eventually we all worked it out. We were friends, and it was my Dad who did it, not me.”

Jo gave him another discerning look. “‘Were’?”

_ Might as well go out with a bang. _“You died,” said Sam. “Back in my world, you died, in the fight against L… the fight to stop the Apocalypse.”

Jo seemed somber at this, but not necessarily disturbed. “And Cassie?” she asked, jerking her chin.

Sam shrugged. “She had a thing with my brother. Then the ghost car. Haven’t seen her in a decade.”

“What, that’s it?” Cassie asked, affronted.

Sam shrugged again, not taking his eyes off of Jo.

Jo gave him a once-over, clearly weighing her options. 

Then she relaxed, flipping her knife in her hand, though she didn't sheath it. “Yeah, he’s no psychic, Cassie, nobody can make up shit that bad.” 

“So we trust them?” asked Cassie.

“About as far as we can throw them.” Jo glanced behind Sam, evidently looking at Bris, from whom Sam had heard no sign of letting Cassie up.

“So these angels,” Jo said to Sam. “You said they’re ‘not our kind of angel’, and they’re different. What the hell do you mean by that.”

“I mean they’re friends,” answered Sam. His arms were getting tired but he didn’t dare make a move.

“Friends? You can be _ friends _with angels?”

“These angels are good,” Sam said with a verbal shrug.

"Yeah, right. Out of all the shit you've told me, _that_ takes the cake."

“They’ve proven themselves, time and again. Capable and reliable. I trust them with my li—”

_“She’s got Sam at knifepoint!” _

_“Bris’s got the other one!” _

_“Come and get some, ye bleedin’ tick!”_

“Wh—!” Jo suddenly seized up, her muscles going taught before she toppled over.

“What the— Wait! _Guys—!”_ shouted Sam.

~*~*~*~

“My apologies, Jo,” said Castiel, standing upright as he withdrew his hand after healing Jo’s muscle cramps.

Jo eyed him as he walked around the other side of the fire, around which everyone was sitting on fallen trees that Castiel and Gabriel had dragged over. Everyone except Crowley, who stood a step behind the circle. “So you knew me, too?” Jo asked Castiel.

“In our universe, yes. We fought together, for the same cause.” 

“Hm,” said Jo.

“How’d you guys find us?” asked Cassie.

“Oh, it was brilliant,” said Direl. “Cas noticed a patch a’ woods with no sound, and then we saw youse standing right where he was pointin’, crazy that.”

“Huh,” said Cassie. She exchanged a look with Jo.

“So you guys are looking for someone,” said Jo. “And you think they’re at the settlement down south?”

“Looking for a _few_ someones,” said Sam. “My mother, Mary, and our— our… Jack.”

“Our son,” said Castiel.

Sam looked over at him. “Yeah. Our son. Jack.”

_ “Jack? _ Jack is— _ your _son?” asked Jo, gesturing between Sam and Castiel.

“Well, no—” said Sam at the same time Castiel answered “Yes.”

“It’s complicated,” Sam said, wishing in the moment that he could lean toward Bris, but in the shuffle of eight people she’d ended up a few seats away.

“Hey, say no more, we get it,” said Cassie.

“I’m certain yeh don’t,” said Bris, through what might have been a smirk.

_ At least someone’s getting a kick out of it, _thought Sam.

“And. Uh,” Sam said. “We’re also looking for… my brother.”

“Oh yeah?” said Jo.

“Yeah. He—” Sam cut himself off, getting a warning look from both Castiel and Bris. “Um. It’s complicated,” he finished lamely.

_ “Uhh- _huh,” said Jo. 

“And what are two lovely ladies such as yourselves doing all the way out here?” asked Crowley. “So far from this oh-so-important Settlement in the South.”

Both Jo and Cassie eyed-up Crowley. “He’s an angel, too?” asked Cassie.

“Well—” started Sam at the same time Crowley, Direl, Bris, and Gabriel said “Yes.”

Sam exchanged a look with them.

“It’s complicated?” asked Jo.

Sam sighed helplessly. “Yeah,” he said.

Jo sat a little more stiffly on her seat on one of the logs. She swept her gaze over the surrounding group, analyzing them. “We’re looking for people, too,” she said, clipped and to the point.

“Lost? Kidnapped?” asked Sam.

“Kidnapped, yeah. Stolen,” said Cassie. “By the angels.”

“Shit. What happened?” asked Sam.

Both Jo and Cassie looked at Sam appraisingly. 

“Maybe we can help,” said Sam.

“Sam—” started Cas.

“You know this settlement we’re heading for, have you met Jack? Is he safe right now?”

_ “Sam—” _

“No one is safe. Ever,” said Jo. “But if your Jack is the Jack I met… well he’s safer than most.”

“Then we have time to help you,” said Sam. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Castiel sit up straighter with a frown. “Are your people close?”

“Close enough,” said Jo.

“I mean, have you found where they are? Have you staked it out yet? What kind of guard count are you facing?”

Jo and Cassie stiffened in the face of so many questions.

“_Tch. _Just throw Feathers at them, they’ll be mince in minutes,” threw Crowley, gesturing at Cas.

_ “Oi,” _ Direl snapped, “lay off. Castiel ain’t some _missile _you can—”

“_Castiel!?” _

In an instant Jo and Cassie were on their feet, weapons drawn, Jo with a pistol and Cassie with her bow.

“Angel blade tips!” shouted Sam, and Gabriel immediately jumped in front of Castiel.

“You’re working with _ Castiel!?” _Jo shouted, incredulous.

“Put the weapons down!” Sam ordered. “What the hell are you—!”

“You’re working with that— that _ monster?” _

“Calm _ down_, what are y—!”

“The torturer!? The _ butcher!? _ He’s your _ friend!?” _

“What? No, he isn’t a—”

“Oh, so now he’s not a friend?”

“Put your _ weapons down! _”

“If you think I’ll be left defenseless against that— that _ thing—” _

_ “Jo, we don’t know what you’re talking about!” _

“That you’d be anywhere _ near _ him—! I _ knew _we shouldn’t have trusted you, not for a secon—!”

“Michael has my brother!” Sam burst.

“What? What does that have to do—”

“Those two are angels, those two are selkies, and he’s a demon,” Sam plowed on, pointing around the circle. “And I’m human. We’re all from the same other dimension, and Michael, the ‘new’ Michael… has my brother.”

Jo and Cassie stood frozen, their weapons still aimed at Castiel behind Gabriel.

Sam continued, “If you’ve met Jack, I suspect you know what’s up with him, too—”

“He’s a Nephil,” said Cassie.

“Right. You know. And now you know everything else. No lies. Cas is our friend, he’s my _ brother. _Whatever you think you know, you don’t, okay? You don’t.”

Cassie and Jo still didn’t stand down.

“This isn’t your world’s Cas,” Sam continued to plead. “This is _ our _Cas. And this Cas is the furthest thing from a monster you can get.”

Castiel turned to Sam.

Jo and Cassie stared a moment longer. 

Then Cassie lowered her bow. 

“Cassie—!”

“It’s not him,” Cassie answered Jo. “He didn’t do it.”

“But he could—”

“But he didn’t,” Cassie stated. “Jo, I love Susan as much as you, but this isn’t our guy. He didn’t hurt her.”

Jo’s face curled in a snarl, tears welling in her eyes. 

Then she shoved her gun back into its holster, dropping her eyes to the ground. 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, though he couldn't savor it. The weapons were stowed but tension was still high. Gabriel hadn’t moved from in front of Castiel and no one had sat back down again.

“So... a demon, huh?” offered Cassie. 

“Yeah,” Sam took. “He’s useful.”

“Stop. I’ll blush,” droned Crowley. 

“Must be a hell of a rescue mission,” said Cassie, more statement than question.

“Yeah. Understatement,” huffed Sam.

Cassie looked over Sam again. Seeming to come to a decision, she sat back down on her fallen log. “So how do you lose _ three _different people into the same alternate dimension?”

Sam also sat down. He gave a tired sigh. “It’s...”

“Complicated?”

“A long story.”

“Yeah, you said that before. And like _ I _said, I’ve got time.”

“What? No we don’t!” burst Jo. “What the hell, we don’t have time to swap tragic backstories with strangers over a campfire, or did you suddenly forget we’re on a mission?”

Cassie slowly turned, steadily looking up at Jo from her seat. “I know you’re upset, so I’m going to let that slide this time.”

Jo crossed her arms. She dropped herself back down onto their log, flicking her eyes back over at Cassie. *Sorry, baby,* she mumbled, so low Sam only just barely heard it.

“Thank you.” Cassie patted the back of Jo’s arm. She looked back to Sam. “How about the short version?”

“How about _you_ tell us about these hostages?” snapped Crowley.

“Hey,” Sam chastized him. “Look— Could everybody sit down? Please?”

There was a pause, in which many eyes flicked over to Sam. Then slowly, the others returned to their previous positions, though Gabriel sat notably closer to Castiel now. Sam marveled again at how they listened.

“Alright. Well. How about a deal,” Sam said, facing Cassie and Jo again. “We want to reach Jack. You want your friends back safely. We'll go get them, protect you on the trip back, and you'll guide us to the settlement. 'You help us, we help you', right?”

Cassie smirked at him.

“Seems pretty weighted in our benefit,” said Jo.

Castiel shifted on his seat. “Your knowledge of the area and this world overall would be invaluable to us,” he said, begrudgingly.

Jo considered him, the grimace not well hidden on her face. She and Cassie exchanged another silent look, a quick communication. 

“Agreed,” Cassie said. “You help us get our people, we take you to Jack.”

“But after that, we’re done,” said Jo.

“Fine,” said Sam.

“Fine,” said Jo. She took a breath, and released a resigned sigh. “The angels have an old house where they take people. It’s about a klick northeast of here, built onto a hill. We’ve scouted it out, and as far as we can tell it’s low security, three to five angels total. The usual.”

“Three to five? In a fortification?” said Castiel. 

“...Yes?”

“But there’s only two of you.”

Jo looked down at her clasped hands. _ “We’re _ not a rescue team,” she said. “We’re recovery.”

“By the time we find our people, the angels have already done their work. They’re either already gone or they smoke out when they see us,” said Cassie. “We just bring them home. It’s— It's all we can do with the resources we have.”

Sam drew in a breath. “Well, you have us now,” he said. “Eight of us, maybe five of them. Do they know you’re coming?”

“We _ always. _get our people back,” growled Jo.

“So yes,” said Crowley.

“Then we’ll head out right away. They’ve got their angel-senses but we’ve got daylight and numbers. Alright, let’s put this fire out, and—”

“Sam,” said Gabriel, gentle but firm.

Sam looked over at him.

“We need to rest,” he said simply.

Sam paused. Then he nodded. “Right.” He looked up at the sky, too cloudy to see the sun but by the light levels it was maybe nine. “Okay, four hours, then we go.” He looked over at Castiel and Direl, “Don’t want to make our move in the dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas's little speaker: _"And-a *I* would walk three-hun-dred miles, and-a *I* would walk three-hun-dred more...!"_


End file.
